


blame it on the alcohol

by SafelyCapricious



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Marvel Cameos, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 75
Words: 24,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/pseuds/SafelyCapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for responses to drunk!ficcing.  Tags will go in as fics go up.</p><p>I am moving things from my other collection into here, because I decided (belatedly) I wanted to separate the fics written drunk from those where actual editing may have taken place. Through 28 are probably ones you've seen before on Ao3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. howl

**Author's Note:**

> batsonthebrain asked:  
> Drunk Prompt: Ward/Simmons- Halloween Meme: Howl

Grant got bit when he was twenty four. He didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t like it was the only bite he got, he’d been escaping a compound and had bites from several of the dogs. 

The following full moon had been rough.

Who knew werewolves were a thing?

He absolutely hadn’t. He’d wanted to ask Garrett about it, but, well, Garrett had smelled so terrible that he hadn’t managed to even be in the same room with him for over a year after he’d gotten bit. 

He was surprised at how easy it was to be a werewolf in SHIELD. For one, he was much better at catching other people lying, and a lot of things smelled terrible, but it was survivable. 

And then he’d gotten on the bus. 

The female scientist, Simmons, had smelled like sunshine and cookies and really everything good in life all at once. It had been a struggle not to follow her around like a puppy. But he was a professional and he had resisted.

Mostly. 

At least no one but May noticed for a while. That was something?

He was a little ashamed of himself, but she smelled so good.

It came to a head after he’d finally managed to work through the rage of the staff. And by a head he meant that while getting medically examined he’d face planted in her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her and refused to let go.

She was less alarmed than he felt she probably should’ve been.

Instead she was running her fingers through his hair, telling him it was okay, he was safe, he was fine, he wasn’t as full of rage as the staff had made him feel. 

He wanted to howl in victory at just the touch of her fingers.


	2. howl (the next full moon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!Fic: ilosttrackofthings asks:  
> Is "the next full moon" totally cheating for the time stamp meme? Because I totally want that for "Howl." (PS: You can wait until you're drunk to answer this if it helps. XD)

Surprisingly she hadn't mentioned anything since his breakdown. Which given that he’d needed over twenty minutes to force himself to stop inhaling her sent directly from her neck was really saying something.

He’d done his best to avoid her since then, and done a fairly poor job of it. Given the option of doing just about anything else and just following her around, his drive was to just follow her around.

Fitz has been suspiciously eyeing him for weeks.

The full moon, somehow, takes him by surprise.

What doesn’t take him by surprise is Jemma’s willingness to spend an entire evening petting and watching action movies with a wolf. 

Instead of being freaked out, she cuddles him – pets him! 

And when she lets him come curl up in her bed, well, he hopes like hell that when he turns back into a man (naked as the day he was born) she’s able to still deal with the situation.

Because waking up in Jemma’s bed naked? Oh, he has plans. So many plans.


	3. howl (morning after the next full moon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shineyma asks:  
> I don't have a list! I'm winging it here! Um... the next morning after the 'next full moon' drabble you did for howl?

Jemma stretches, feeling oddly itchy and also oddly sore. She stretches and her hand bumps against something. 

She blinks open sleep rough eyes and squints at what she’s seeing next to her. Her brain takes more than a moment to run through its memory before she realizes what must have happened, and blushes crimson. 

Naturally, that’s when Ward nuzzles into her, eyes still closed but fingers gripping her hip and the back of her neck and tugging her closer to him. He seems to settle once he’s buried his face in her tangle of hair, breath hot on her neck. 

She feels like someone is playing with her nerve endings, making them fire and settle over and over again.

She tries to extract herself from his embrace, but in the process her fingers come in contact with his thigh (since it’s thrown over her leg and she can’t get it to uncurl) and she discovers he is definitely naked. 

(She is not. She’s not sure if this is a good thing or not, and the fact that she can’t decide is disconcerting.) 

She’s barely managed to move his leg two inches off of hers when his eyes snap open and he is suddenly rolling them and she’s got his hand on her throat and he’s snarling in her face and his lower body is holding hers down. 

She blinks up at him, unable to be terrified of him, even when his hand convulses for a second. “…Ward? Are you okay?”

He blinks, face inches from her, and she can practically see when he actually catches up with his body and wakes up, human intelligence sliding in front of animal instincts. 

His hand drops away, smoothing over her pulse and bracing him by the side of her head. “Jemma?” 

He sounds lost and confused. Naturally she pulls him to her, hand cradling the back of his head, and she runs her fingers back and forth through his hair as he shudders and sobs.

It had been easier for her to comfort the wolf with his nightmares than it was the man.

But the man was also much more pleasant to hold.


	4. magestic hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shineyma asked:  
> Okay, I cannot find the exact conversation, but there was definitely something about Grant staring into the distance while his hair blows majestically in the wind. So I would like to request that, please.  
> Drunk Fic.

Sometimes Jemma felt like Ward was a tragic hero in one of her romance novels. (To be fair to Jemma, most of her romance novels were the sort that Brontë and Austen wrote.)

But seriously, he was standing on the edge of a field, with his arms crossed, biceps bulging in a way that she was positive had to be on purpose, as a storm rolled it. It hadn’t hit yet, but it wasn’t like he was going to move before he was covered in rain, resulting in his short sleeved shirt sticking attractively to him. 

She couldn’t help but snort a laugh, and when Skye turned to her, questioning. Jemma tried not to break, but after a minute of Skye’s nudging she couldn’t help herself.

“If he lets his hair grow any longer, he’s going to be the hero of a romance novel.” She kept her voice tart to try to cover the fact that she was very comfortable with mentally casting herself as the heroine in said story. 

Skye, naturally, burst into laughter, which caused Ward to turn towards them. Jemma wiggled her fingers in a wave, that just sent Skye into more hysterics. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear, so Jemma continued. “Seriously, that is not a face a person makes on purpose, he is posing and we all know it.”

Skye was doubled over with laughter at this point.

Unfortunately, Grant took the opportunity to walk over, and now he was facing into the wind and his hair looked like it belonged to a Disney prince. Seriously. It was ridiculous.

Jemma made a face and he frowned. “What did you do to Skye?”

Skye, who had barely managed to get control of herself, took one look at Ward, managed to choke out, “Kiss the girl” and then had doubled over again. 

Jemma opened her mouth to lie, poorly, before Grant took what Skye had said to heart.

He kissed her, thoroughly.

Any objection she had to how ridiculous he looked with his hair blowing majestically in the wind faded in the face of the kiss.

Okay, so he was a Disney prince. She could deal with it.

So long as she got to be the princess.

(Skye hadn’t stopped laughing.)


	5. kitchen disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> batsonthebrain asked:  
> Drunk prompt: highly professional adult agents Ward and Simmons and a kitchen disaster

Jemma tried to stop him, she really did. She, at least, knew that you never put water on a grease fire.

Ward had apparently never gotten that lecture.

By the time they managed to get the blaze under control, May was standing in the living area peering into the kitchen, arms crossed and looking decidedly un-amused. 

Jemma, now covered in soot, flour that she’d used to try to stop the blaze and some things she preferred not to think about, unhesitatingly pointed at Ward.

May turned her glare onto the other specialist, and Jemma relaxed slightly at being out of the line of fire. 

Ward just frowned and said, “It wasn’t my fault.”

Jemma gaped. She hadn’t been the one to pour water on the accidentally lit deep-fryer.

May arched an incredulous eyebrow. 

Jemma rounded on Ward and shoved a finger into his chest, which was distractingly hard but May was glaring at her and that helped her focus. “Take credit for your actions, or I promise I will never stitch you up again.”

He shifted his weight and arched an eyebrow, clearly willing to bargain. “I can stitch myself up. What’ll you give me if I own up to it?” 

She sputtered, disbelieving.

He grinned, smug. “Promise to go out with me and I’ll tell the truth.”

She tilted her chin, stubborn, and bargained back. “Tell the truth and I may be willing to kiss you at some point in the future. If you don’t you can kiss the chance goodbye.”

He eyed her for a very short moment before turning to May and admitting, “I fucked up.”


	6. terrified colleagues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shineyma asked:  
> Alternately, some cracky fun about Jemma's colleagues being terrified of Grant would also be acceptable.  
> Drunk fic.

All day people had been absurdly nice to her. Jemma didn’t mean they were being nice in a normal polite way, no people were falling all over themselves to make sure she was happy and had everything she needed. Which meant one thing.

She was polite and kind to all of them, being very careful to never frown, until she got home.

“What. Did. You. Do.” Grant was on their couch, reading a magazine, which was so clearly a cover she didn’t pay it any mind. She was the only one who bought magazines, and while Scientific America was understandable to him, it wasn’t anything he actually cared about. (The other journals, like Tropical Medicine and Public Health, he couldn’t even understand, even though she’d found him faux reading them plenty of times.)

He looked up and blinked innocently, arching an eyebrow and playing ignorance. “Did you have a good day?” 

She set her purse down heavily on the table, “I had three people try to buy me lunch, four bring me tea unprompted, and one magically show up with my favorite type of muffin. What did you say to my colleagues?” 

He stood up and then leaned down to give her a peck on the lips, that she didn’t return, too intent on frowning at him. He clearly caught the mood and held his hands out at his side in supplication. “I didn’t do anything.”

She arched an eyebrow. He was a much better liar than that.

He refused to back down, so she turned to walk away from him and he drew her back by a hand on her elbow, turning her to drop a proper kiss on her lips.

She was a little shaky and had mostly forgotten the day by the time he pulled back. 

He smiled, “I love you?” 

She frowned, reminded. “I love you, too. But you have to stop terrorizing my workmates, okay?”

He faux frowned and nodded, she didn’t believe it for an instant. But, well, she could probably keep him from doing it for the rest of the week at least.

She considered, than jumped him.

Sure enough, if she handcuffed him to the bed he was unable to terrorize her colleagues.


	7. candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!Fic:  
> sapphireglyphs asks:  
> Drunk Prompt for Ward and Simmons please! (Brownie points for featuring candy somewhere in there! :D) please and thank you!

He twitched. He couldn’t help it. He’d gotten shot in the field, again. Just a graze though, but per usual Simmons had insisted on looking him over before letting him leave.

Somehow she had gotten candy. 

He wasn’t sure what kind, but she kept rolling it around in her mouth as she made thoughtful noises while looking at his body scan.

He was mesmerized. 

He was sure what she was saying was important because she looked concerned. But all he could focus on was the wet red candy appearing and disappearing behind her lips. 

He managed to gather his wits enough that when she asked if he was paying attention he didn’t take too terribly long to respond, but all he could think about was kissing her. Of licking at that red candy and finding out how much the flavor had sunk into her tongue. Of drawing said tongue into his own mouth until she was comfortable with it.

Until she was panting for what else he could do with is tongue.

Naturally, she snapped, “Are you even paying attention?:

And he nodded, because his cover would, and said, “Yes, of course, I know Simmons,” while imagining her writing, naked, on the laboratory table.


	8. hammocks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Fic:  
> shineyma asks:  
> And, fourth and final: hammocks! :D

The circumstances that lead to her being held captive on an island by one Grant Ward are complicated and she prefers not to think about them. She especially prefers not to think about them when there are so many more pleasant things for her to think about.

Like Grant Ward shirtless in a hammock.

Like Grant Ward shirtless in a hammock outside the large glass windows of the lab that he put together for her. 

Fitz, who is on the completely unhackable connection from the Ipad, is starting to yell with increasing volume. 

But she really can’t bother herself to pay attention. Because Grant Ward is relaxing. Right outside her window. In a hammock. And he is actively rubbing some sort of slick lotion of his chest.

She continues to ignore Fitz as she considers her options.

Because this? This means war.

And she’s pretty sure she can win.

She just has to figure out which bra will double as a bikini best.


	9. (hammock) why do you keep doing this to me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT! BIOSPECIALIST, HAMMOCK!VERSE, "WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS TO ME?"
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

Jemma had her hand over her eyes.

His evil plot was working and she knew that he knew that it was. But anything she could do to delay it she would. So, hand over her eyes as she stood in the doorway. “Why do you keep doing this to me?” she asked, sadly.

He didn’t respond for a long moment, but she knew better than to look. The bastard was probably spreading coco butter on himself or something and was just waiting for her to look.

He was evil.

She’d known before, obviously, the whole being HYDRA thing kind of gave it away. But this was cruel and unusual and she’d been led to believe that American’s were against that kind of thing.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, inches from her face.

Her eyes flew open and she took a step back and yup, she was right, he was shirtless and shining and distressingly attractive.

She pointed an angry finger at the hammock. “I’m going to cut it down. I will do it. Don’t test me, Grant Douglas Ward. I will do it.”

He grinned. “But then I’d have to nap in your bed.”

She let out what could only be characterized as a screech and turned on her heels – returning to the lab that had a wall of windows facing his hammock.

He was so evil.


	10. best day ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drunk!fic:  
> shineyma asks:  
> Third: Grant Ward's Best Day Ever!
> 
> Related to [it's so easy to see](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/post/109277594299/its-so-easy-to-see-what-you-want-to-see) (which is a not drunk story, so not located here!)

Jemma is HYDRA.

Grant can honestly say that he had never, ever, ever thought she was. But she is. And she’s scowling at Garrett. But that’s okay, because he’d scowl at Garrett more than he did if he didn’t respect the man’s ability to force him to do things he didn’t want to so much.

Obviously Jemma isn’t afraid of that.

There’s a warmth in his chest and he thinks he might be a little in love. He’s never felt this way. Not even about Lorelei who forced the emotion on him. He feels like laughing. Like telling stupid jokes just because.

Except, of course, he’s pretty sure that if he did Jemma would send him the same look she’s sending Garrett right now.

He doesn’t want that.

But, well, Garrett is at least hinting that he started trying to get Jemma entertaining the thought of him and Grant, and, well, there’s a reason he’d kill just about anyone to keep the other man alive.

(He’s honestly a little surprised to realize that Jemma doesn’t make that list. If killing Jemma would keep Garrett alive he’s not sure who he’d pick.) 

Luckily he doesn’t have to make any decisions. Jemma is walking out the door, shooting a look at him over her shoulder, and Garrett is nodding him forward, smug smirk firmly in place.

This might be the best day he’s ever had.


	11. 80's redemption montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!fic:  
> shineyma asks:  
> Second: 80's-style redemption montage!

Jemma watches as Ward runs around saving Skye. Then he runs around saving Lance and Bobbi and Tripp and basically everyone. She feels like cheesy 80’s music should be playing in the background.

Even Coulson, who up until this point had been preaching the evils of the man, starts to soften. 

Fitz doesn’t. But Fitz is barely aware of anything that doesn’t directly effect him right now, excluding Jemma’s own efforts to stay out of his range of motion because she loves Fitz, she does, but they are far too similar to make anything approaching appropriate mates. 

Mack thinks whatever Fitz does.

It’s almost a relief that at least everyone isn’t falling for this 80’s montage bullshit.

May seems unconvinced, but Jemma isn’t sure that she’s reading May right. Maybe May is totally for him reinstatement. The woman just stares and sometimes arches an eyebrow and despite her double bachelors’, her three masters and her two doctorates, she has no idea what the other woman is thinking. Ever.

When Coulson lobs the idea of letting Ward back into the fold, Jemma is horrified that she’s the only one doubting it, the only one raising objections and the only one point out the fact that he’s a murdering scumbag. 

Somehow they’ve all forgotten.

Maybe there was some sort of biological weapon while she was undercover? Maybe they’ve all lost their minds with whatever alien bullshit is currently driving them instead of good old fashioned logic. 

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she cares.

She does care that Ward obviously knows she’s the lone dissenter and makes a point to be overly polite to her and follow her around.

No one else even raises the fact that he’d literally been stalking Skye, in a totally creepy way, for months before he’d magically been let back on the team, and yet now he doesn’t care about the younger girl? Any relief she has for Skye dodging that bullet is relegated to the back burner as she deals with a creepy persistent pest wherever she goes in the base.

Jesus. She’s never been and will never been drunk enough for this.


	12. duck shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drunk!fic:  
> shineyma asks:  
> Yes! My time has come!!! First: duck shoes!

Jemma has had weirder dreams. She’s positive she’s had weirder dreams then this. 

Unsurprisingly, the knowledge that she’s had weirder dreams isn’t making her feel any better.

She pinches herself to make sure she’s not, in fact, dreaming. It stings. She has to stop pinching at her own arm when May makes a cutting motion across her throat. That she’s okay with for the most part. The fact that Ward thinks it’s okay to take her hand is not and she jerks away from him and glares. 

He frowns at her and holds his hands at his sides, indicating that if she was very stupid she might assume he was harmless. 

Grant Ward has never been harmless in his entire life. (Or, if he has, it was well before she was born. He only has five years on her, but she’s got an image in her head of six year old him with a switch blade and a devil may care attitude and it’s not going anywhere.) 

She scowls and shifts as far away from him as she can, having already figured out her range due to the intensity of Skye’s glares. 

Thankfully he doesn’t follow.

On cue she starts singing with the rest of them. 

Something is definitely going on. There are four HYDRA agents holding hands and singing happy birthday with everyone else and no one is batting an eye. 

Also, Skye is marrying a duck. A duck in shoes. 

Jemma was only gone for five hours. (Mentally she repeats five hours to herself with various swear words intermixed.) 

Something has gone terribly wrong

And if Ward doesn’t remove his hand from her ass right this instant she is going to start a riot. She’s sure the duck is on her side.


	13. it's a boy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!Fic:  
> athenakyle asks:  
> Drunk prompt: Biospecialist (obvs) "Congratulations, it's a boy!"

"Congratulations, it's a boy!" Fitz announced, cheerfully.

Jemma shot him the dirtiest look she could muster and didn’t let up even after he’d raised his hands in surrender and gone to tinker with whatever his current pet project was. 

She turned back to Grant and tried to paste an understanding look on her face, feeling out the words carefully as she went. “While the scan may show a male human fetus, we can’t be sure how the artifact is effecting you. It could very well be temporary.”

He scowled, arms crossed awkwardly over his distended belly. “I touched a fucking rock, Simmons. And now I’m what, five months pregnant?”

She resisted correcting him, but due to the visible development they were probably much closer to eight.

He carried on, glare firmly in place, “It’s been an hour. What is going to happen and how the fuck do you expect me to give birth? I don’t have a…” He waved a hand ineffectively at her legs and she arched an eyebrow.

Really, if he couldn’t even talk about it he had no business having a child. Not, of course, that he’d asked for this or anything.

She had to bite her lip from pointing either that fact or the fact that given where it looked like his uterus had magically appeared he was going to have to have a C-section in about fifteen minutes. Not because it wasn’t connected to something, but because while she knew a vagina could deal with the sort of abuse that having a child dealt out, she was equally positive a penis couldn’t.

And it would be a shame to ruin such a prime specimen. 

She could feel heat crawling up her face and she turned away to make sure she had everything ready for when he started having contractions and demanded she took care of it. It was inevitable. If he’d wanted a back alley abortion he should’ve talked to May about a round of punch the belly about fifty five minutes ago. 

Besides, she doubted that plan B worked on magical alien rock babies. 

God. This was going to be a disaster. 

Even if Coulson had already ordered a Captain America Onesie from Amazon.


	14. monkey business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Prompt
> 
> athenakyle asks:  
> Drunk prompt: BioSpecialist, "Mission monkey business is a go!" "Oh shit! Abort mission! Abort mission!"

Skye had a whole brilliant plan to get them together. Not just because her bet in the pool had them getting together this week, but because the UST was getting so thick it was actively killing other people in the room.

Also the cockblocking. So much cockblocking. Ward was apparently working under the assumption that if he couldn’t get any, no one could get any.

So she had an obligation to make things happen. 

(Also, she was pretty sure she could talk both Trip and Fitz into a threesome if Ward and Simmons would stop interfering!) 

“Operation Monkey Business is a go.” She muttered, under her breath, before sneaking into Simmons’ room to steal all of her underwear.

(The plan wasn’t ideal. She’d tried to get help planning it from May, but May had just given her a horrified eyebrow arch and turned away.) 

Four hours later she walks in on Ward and Simmons having what is very clearly not first time sex in her bed and she flees, cries of “Abort mission! Abort! Abort!” going unheeded by everyone else.


	15. shirtless martial arts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!Fic:  
> shineyma asks:  
> Shirtless martial arts?

All four women picked up and took a long drink from their tea and set their mugs down in tandem. 

Jemma sighed and slid her elbow onto the bar so she could lean on her hand. Skye echoed her sigh and tilted her head, eyes dreamy and distant. Bobbi arched her eyebrow at their behavior but didn’t move her eyes away from the sight not a hundred feet from where they sat.

May took another sip of tea, face still expressionless. 

Skye stretched and grinned, raising her mug in a toast. “This is the best. Who do I thank for this?”

Bobbi shook her head, “I think it was some scientist at the Tree House, kept mentioning physical issues that develop after age twenty five.” 

Skye sighed happily and shifted forward. “We need to send him a present. Maybe some chocolates.”

Jemma nodded enthusiastically, eyes memorizing as much as she could. 

May took another sip of her tea, face still expressionless, and said, “I think Coulson might have the best muscle definition.”

Instantly each of the other women were offering differing opinions. 

They all expected it from Skye and Bobbi, but when Jemma cut them all off to go on a ten minute rant about different muscle groups and how their were different ideals but how obviously Ward was the most physically fit of the entire group, well, all three other women were shocked. Even May. 

The group of twenty SHIELD shirtless male agents were completely unaware of what the women in the lab sitting right before the window were arguing about.


	16. off the bus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!Fic  
> anonymous asks:  
> Drunk prompt: skyelance+ please help me sneak the guy I slept with last night off the bus before May or Coulson sees

They’ve only been at The MonkeyBars for two days, all still bedding down in the Bus due to an over crowding issue because of the conference, when Skye bursts into Jemma’s room.

The younger girl doesn’t even blink at the passed out Specialist laying facedown in the Biochemists bed, gaze only darting around until she finds Jemma and stopping. “Jemma!”

Jemma, who had possibly been enjoying the free refreshments at the conference as well as the lack of nonhuman generated movement in her bunk a little too much, blinks at the younger girl from where she’s leaning by the door to her mini bathroom. “Skye.” Her voice sounds unamused, but to be fair, she has plans for the passed out Specialist in her bed. 

Skye is vibrating in place and her words come out in a rush that it takes Jemma a moment to interpret. “Jemma! Please help me sneak the guy I slept with last night out of the bus before May or Coulson see!” 

Jemma blinks and shifts, turning to give her full attention to Skye (instead of less than half with the over half being taken up by how low the blanket had slipped on Ward’s back.) “Wait. Who did you sleep with?” 

Ward shifts awake at that, pushing himself up far enough that the blanket slips all the way down and Skye covers her eyes with an arm, still speaking. “I don’t know if you know him, but will you please help me?”

Jemma frowns and pulls her short robe further around her, just about to give the younger girl a lecture when a man in boxers pushes into the door and slams it shut, leaning against it and panting. 

Jemma blinks twice, eyes darting quickly between Skye and Lance. Her voice is even more dire as she pleads, “Tell me you didn’t.”

Lance looks up and grins, “Jemma! My dove, how have you been?” 

Skye turns and demands to know how Lance knows Jemma when Ward asks, voice rough with sleep, “Why the fuck is your brother here, Jem?” 

Lance grins, unrepentant, and Skye covers her face with her hands.


	17. secret author

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drunk!fic:  
> shineyma asks:  
> Drunk prompt: Grant the secret author! (I warned you.)

Ward has been in lockdown by the FBI for two years when Jemma stumbles across the book in Prague.

It’s fairly nondescript, but it’s been left in one of the hostels where she’s investigating an alien drug smuggling ring, and she’s trying to kill time. 

It’s their time on the Bus. 

Oh, it’s been freshened up and names don’t match up (and it’s called The Bird instead of The Bus. She’s most insulted, honestly, by that.) but it’s definitely their time on the Bus. 

She reads it in only two hours, horrified and a little bit amused.

There are some subtle changes. The rocket scientist is a girl who hooks up with the hacker girl. The team leader only almost died and was resurrected by some new ridiculous surgery (which is one of the other insulting things because it has zero basis in actual science). The female ‘special agent’ is ten years younger than May, and also a foot taller.

Oh, and the male ‘special agent’ and the biochemist hook up.

A lot.

Like, almost enough to make it a romance novel if the focus wasn’t clearly on adventures, and if the word ‘manhood’ had appeared more than twice.

She almost couldn’t make her do it, but after a long moment Jemma turns the book over and stares at Ward’s picture and completely fake biography.

She only has one thing to say as she stares at him twinkling at her from the back of the book. “What. The. Fuck.”


	18. forgotten valentines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drunk!fic:  
> ilosttrackofthings asks:  
> Drunk prompt! Since it's the day after Valentine's, how about one of them forgetting the day entirely?

Jemma had been having a terrible week. An experiment had literally exploded because someone had accidently gotten the magnesium too close to the Bunsen burner and it had taken a day to clean up (and it had ruined two other experiments, one of which had been aging for a month and now the results were ruined!). 

So it was fairly understandable that Jemma kept having very late nights and very early mornings to try to get everything back on track. 

That Saturday she’d gone into work to work some more on cleaning everything up and making sure that none of the other scientists had accidently put something in incorrectly again. She’d ended up managing to get a fair amount done because no one else was in and she didn’t get back home until late. 

Grant was still home, as he had been for the past week, and passed out on the couch in a fairly nice outfit. She wondered if she had been meeting Bobbi and Trip earlier, if they had been celebrating something, but other than that she didn’t think much of it as she went to bed. 

He’d probably wake up in a few hours and come to bed properly, but since moving in with him a few months ago she’d discovered that waking him up was problematic at best and dangerous at worst, and so she avoided doing it as much as possible. 

Sure enough, in the middle of the night she woke up to him curling around her, only half aware of his voice in her ear, whispering, “Happy Valentines day.”

She made a humming noise in her throat then froze.

Shit.

It had been Valentines Day the day before, they’d had reservations at a very nice restaurant and there had been a play they were going to see. 

She was sure her phone, that she’d naturally left at home that day, would have at least three texts from him trying ot make sure she was coming home. 

Fuck.

This was their first Valentines Day too.

She’d have to make it up to him. She wrinkled her nose and nodded to himself, he’d been wanting to put her in a blindfold, and though she’d originally intended to do it for his birthday, well, she’d just have to figure something else out for then, now wouldn’t she. 

She nodded to herself, twisted so she could press a kiss to his heart, and went back to sleep.


	19. turned into kittens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shineyma asks:  
> Drunk fic prompt: one or more members of the team get turned into kittens somehow

Grant will remain strong. This is fine. This is nothing. He is not being affected at all. He is made of stronger stuff than this. He’s undercover for HYDRA for godssake, he can survive this.

Twenty minutes later he’s cooing over kitten-Fitz when Jemma bursts back into the room and gives him a disapproving look. “Really, Grant? Really?” She’s making the judgmental eyebrows at him, but instead of responding verbally he just holds up May and Fitz, one in each hand, and gives her the puppy dog eyes to match their adorable kitten faces.

She sighs and sits down, holding out a hand and saying, “Alright, give me Coulson then, he’s pouting. Oh, and Trip too. I didn’t see him.” She cradles the two in her lap and pets them and it is extra adorable. He hopes that the bus is getting video of this because the pictures are going to be amazing. And also he’s pretty sure they could actually use them as weapons. Just put a caption like ‘trying to kill SHIELD agents will make Jemma and her kittens sad, please, think of them’ and probably half of the undercover HYDRA agents would never bother to come out.

It’s good he doesn’t voice this. Mostly on account of no one knowing he’s undercover HYDRA. But god, if anything is going to make him convert it’s going to be Jemma and kittens.

He thinks he might be having an allergic reaction to the cute.

Is that possible?

Jemma coos and rubs Trip’s belly as Coulson climbs up her sleeve. Skye is still asleep in his discarded shirt and May and Fitz are wrestling. 

“It’s good Fitz got turned into a cat, you know he’s terribly allergic?” Jemma looks up at him, eyes wide and earnest, and he can’t help but lean forward and kiss her, swallowing the small ‘eep’ of surprise she makes. 

She stares in confusion when he backs off and he just smiles and goes back to knocking Fitz over and letting him pounce.


	20. can't or won't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shineyma asks:  
> Drunk prompt! Bobbi/Bakshi/Jemma/Ward, "Can't or won't?"

Bobbi hates Ward, Ward hates Bakshi, Bakshi hates Bobbi. No one hates Jemma. In fact, Jemma is the reason they’re here, and yet…Nothing is happening.

Jemma scowls at all of them and crosses her arms. She’s well aware of the fact that she’s topless and the movement really highlights the fact, but that’s not what she’s going for – it’s hard to look annoyed when you’re half debauched and kneeling in the center of a bed, but she’s doing the best she can. She would really like to be entirely debauched, and that’s the problem. 

She rolls her eyes and huffs, not unaware of what happens to her assets with the movement. 

Bakshi points a finger at Bobbi and says, “I won’t be involved if this…harpy is.”

Bobbi makes a face back and says, “You administrators are all the same, you can’t even piss without filling out eight forms – heaven forbid a specialist do it better.”

Grant smiles at her and says, “I completely agree.”

To which she replies, “Shut up, I hate you.” 

Jemma sighs again and throws herself back into the bed, “Look, can’t or won’t, I don’t care. Anyone who can’t cope with the other people in this room, leave now. Anyone who stays, this is happening and you will accept it and love it – or you don’t get to touch me. Easy enough, yes?”

And it turns out it is. 

Bobbi still claims to hate Ward, but she’s happy to help position him on the bed and she may or may not give him a hickie. And Ward definitely claims to still hate Bakshi, but he stands behind him and threatens, silently, the other specialists who don’t immediately listen. And Bobbi gets the best jobs from Bakshi, because anything else would make Jemma disapprove. 

No one wants to deal with Jemma’s disapproval.


	21. have to be alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ilosttrackofthings asks:  
> drunk prompt! my favorite thing! And, just because it's appropriate, I'm starting out with: “Why does it always have to be alcohol?”

Jemma makes a face and swallows the “mystery” liquid. It’s not a mystery. Well, it is. Because she’s certain that wasn’t a single type of alcohol – or even a mixture of alcohol she would ever be willing to combine. But beyond that, it’s not really a mystery. 

She makes a face at Lance and shakes her head, trying to chase away the aftertaste. “But why does it always have to be alcohol?” 

He shrugs eloquently and takes his shot gallantly of mystery liquid. The face he makes is even worse than the one she made – and when he announces “Oh god, there was jalapeño sauce in that,” she bursts into laughter. 

Her chair, one of the frat boys whose name she didn’t get earlier, laughs with her. She likes him more for that – but not enough more not to abandon him when Lance stands up, having done his penalty mystery shot with her, drags her to her feet and out to the dance floor. 

She’s not sure how much time passes before Bobbi shows up and drags Lance off into a corner, but she’s not alone, and this time she does recognize the broad hand settled on her stomach. She tilts her head back and smiles up at Grant and he leans down to kiss her. The angle is awkward but she doesn’t care. 

He makes a face and pulls back quickly though. “Jesus Christ, Jemma, what have you been drinking?” And she loses it – someone clearly wasn’t playing circle of death with them earlier.


	22. drunk!skye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asks:  
> DRUNK FIC WOOP! TO CONTINUE WITH THE THEME OF THE NIGHT... LINCOLN FINDS SKYE DRUNK AS FUCK (IDK WHY I WOROTE THIS IN CAPS)

Lincoln has no idea where she got the booze. Gordon is the only one who can come in or out – and he’s never been willing to go on a booze run before. Though, he supposes, if anyone is going to talk him into it, it’s going to be Skye.

She is drunk. Very. Very. Drunk. 

And she’s leveling mountains. So that’s, you know, a problem.

He sighs and approaches her cautiously. “Skye, hey, Skye, can we stop destroying –oh, no, there goes another mountain – lets just get some water?” 

She wrinkles her nose at him, stomps her foot, and he goes tumbling to the ground.

This is the fifth time she’s done this. 

She dissolves into peals of laughter and he sighs and pulls himself back to his feet. 

The scientist that they’ve been keeping locked up since their leader tried to shoot Jiaying had laughed at him when he’d asked her how to deal with a drunk Skye. He’d thought she was just being petty. 

Now he wishes he’d dragged her with him.

He sighs again, just in time for Skye to knock him over again. This time he offers, from his prone position, “Wanna go see Jemma, Skye? Huh? Simmons? She definitely wants to see you!” 

And suddenly she’s docile as can be and happy to skip along beside him. And okay, she does keep pushing him over every few steps, but it’s with her hand and not with her power and he’ll take that.


	23. gun safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgottenkanji asks:  
> Drunk fic: “Don’t worry, s/he’s the ‘gun safe’ kind of crazy.” Biospecialist or Jemma/Lance, please!

Grant isn’t entirely sure what he’s expecting when Coulson tells him the team needs him – and won’t want to wipe his memory after the fact. A trap, most likely. 

He’s sure that what he’s expecting is not what he’s seeing. Which is basically that everyone has lost their goddamn mind. 

Lance Hunter – a mercenary that the team had apparently picked up while he’d been locked up – is sitting on top of a barrel and holding up bottles that Simmons is shooting out of his hand. 

He knows he’s gaping but he doesn’t know what other response is appropriate. 

Lance glances at him, takes another bite of the apple he’s holding in the hand that isn’t holding shit that’s getting shot, and takes a big bite before saying, “You got a problem, mate?” 

Grant glances back at where Simmons is standing, terrifying grin still in place, and asks, “Is she insane?” 

Lance shrugs, holds up another bottle that immediately shatters with the sound of a shot, and says, after their ears have stopped ringing, “Oh sure, but don’t worry mate, she’s the ‘gun safe’ kind of crazy. This keeps her calm.”

Grant is reconsidering how much he wanted back on the team more every second.


	24. you love his chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ilosttrackofthings asks:  
> drunk prompt: biospec + “Oh please, you don’t love him/her, you love his/her [body part of prompter’s choice].” Body part: chest. And you can choose who loves whose. ;)

Jemma sighs and rests her chin in her hand. On screen the weatherman is peeling off his shirt because the news anchor has somehow managed to spray him with water. “I’m in love.”

Skye, sitting next to Jemma at the breakfast bar of their loft, scoffs and shakes her head, “Oh please, you don’t love him, you love his chest.”

Jemma blinks and turns her head. “Erm. No, I love him.”

Skye frowns and waves her spoon at the screen. “You know that’s not love, right? That’s lust. You lust for him.”

Jemma tilts her head and opens her mouth and then shakes her head. Skye realizes that there is water going in the bathroom and she turns to her roommate in shock. Jemma isn’t looking at her, instead focusing on the omelet she made – the rather large omelet she made. The water shuts off with a clatter, like always, and within moments the weatherman is in their apartment, in pants and no shirt, dropping a kiss onto Jemma’s cheek and taking a bite of her omelet. 

Skye gapes. 

Jemma stares at her plate and waves a hand, “Skye, Grant. Grant, Skye. This is my fiancé, this is my roommate. Surprise?” 

Skye gapes some more.


	25. lindsay louisiana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Fic  
> ilosttrackofthings asks:  
> Hannah Montana AU. Someone on the Bus is secretly an international pop star.

Honestly, she’s not surprised that Skye hasn’t figured it out. But Ward she expected better from. She already knew that best scores since Romanoff was a bit of a joke, but this is just painful. 

Phil knows, of course. But he didn’t figure it out himself, he had to be told and he does help cover for her. Which she appreciates. 

Still. 

It’s a bit insulting when everyone is making fun of her on the TV. Lindsey Louisiana is a great stage name. 

May goes and takes some of her frustration out on the punching bag. They clearly have no respect for the arts.


	26. proportional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!Fic  
> ilosttrackofthings asks:  
> "So is everything, you know, proportional?"

It was possible that using herself to test the truth serum was a terrible idea. Especially as it didn’t just make her tell the truth when questioned, but rather made her kind of blurt out everything she was thinking…

“This must be what being Skye is always like,” she said, wincing when Skye turned hurt eyes to her. But she didn’t have long to be offended before Jemma’s genius mind was hopping to another topic and she tilted her head and looked at Mr. Rogers and asked, "So is everything, you know, proportional?"

Coulson started choking to the extent that Mr. Barton gave him the heimlich. 

For some reason the apology for asking, which was hovering at the edges of her mind, didn’t get voiced. Unfortunately the same couldn’t be said about other observations, like the one that followed, “For, example, Ward seems to be a very fine physical specimen, but he is unfortunately lacking. Although May indicated that he made up for it with skill, and there’s certainly something to be said for that.” 

She let out a breath while half of the room choked and the other half chortled. “This was really a terrible idea, wasn’t it?” 

Mr. Rogers arched an eyebrow at her and shrugged. “I dunno. I kind of like blunt you. And I’d be willing to let you find out – but maybe when you’re feeling a little less honest?” 

She smiled brightly at him and said, “I have the antidote in my lab if you’d like to…?” 

It turned out the super-soldier could move quite fast. 

She was pretty sure the room was glad to be rid of her.


	27. kilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ilosttrackofthings asks:  
> drunk prompt! Grant/Jemma - undercover in a kilt (yes, Outlander is on)

Fitz had been decidedly unhappy. If anyone was going to be showing their Scottish pride it should’ve been him. He couldn’t, however, do any martial arts or clear a room of enemy combatants in under a minute. 

So Ward ended up wearing the kilt. 

At least they weren’t the Fitz clan tartan colors. That helped too. 

Still though, all of the ladies were admiring the other man in a cultural garment that he had no right to wear! He was less than pleased.

Jemma had the displeasure of hearing every single rant that Fitz had as Ward got dressed for the mission and Fitz sulked around the lab. 

Skye and May were supposed to go with him, but at the last minute Coulson needed Skye to hack something (something about the Kree?) and so Jemma had to quickly change into traditional clothes and follow. 

Ending up at an historical accurate renaissance festival was not what she was expecting. But apparently it was something that the HYDRA operative they were after was fond of attending, and so it happened. 

She had to give the kilt credit, even if Grant wasn’t the correct nationality to wear it and the tartan colors had been picked at random, for easy access. 

Her own historically accurate outfit on the other hand, was a pain and a half. Not to take off, but to get on. 

May sighed and helped her retie her once she reappeared.


	28. so so so adorable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!Fic  
> agentmarymargaretskitz asks:  
> Biospecialist (with a side of Skitz!)- "You're so adorable. So so so adorable!" (PS-I love your Biospecialist writings!)

Skye was willing to take a certain amount of blame for this. But not all. She’d accidentally gotten them into the situation that had ended with them all locked in the room – but Fitz was the one who had accidentally lit the marijuana on fire because he thought it was incense and he wanted to cover up the smell of unwashed male that permeated the room.

And now Jemma was petting her face and saying, "You're so adorable. So so so adorable!" 

Skye tried to grab Jemma’s hand again, but missed it. It wasn’t her fault that the room was moving a bit. 

Fitz was giggling in the corner and was no help. She wanted more than anything to go and curl up with him.

Ward was standing by the door, arms crossed and looking completely unaffected. She swatted at Jemma’s pawing hands and shot him a look. 

He sighed and came over, picking Jemma up like it was the easiest thing in the world and then sat down with her in his lap. 

He started to whisper something to her and Skye quickly realized that he wasn’t as unaffected as he was pretending because his free hand was petting through Jemma’s hair and he was resting his forehead against hers.

Skye took the opportunity to crawl over to Fitz. And okay, he may have ended up in her lab instead of the other way around, but it still worked.

May and A.C. were not super excited at the state they found them in, an hour later, when they finally located and broke down the door.


	29. loose on the bus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC! WOOO! JEMMA/GRANT "WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'IT'S LOOSE ON THE BUS'?"
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Fitz should have known better. Really.

Jemma had her hands clenched in fists set into her hips and was staring him down and he seemed completely unperturbed. Grant was already wincing for him in anticipation.

Jemma’s voice was deadly calm as she asked, “What do you mean ‘it’s loose on the Bus’?”

Fitz waved his hands around, one hand holding what looked like part of a lightsaber. “I mean that it’s loose on the Bus! What do you think I meant?”

Grant stepped up in time to wrap his arms around Jemma and hold her back before she could strangle her oldest friend. She was making incomprehensible noises in her throat before she finally hung limp in his grip. Grant didn’t let her go though. Which was good, because after staying still for a moment, head hanging low, she announced, “I’m going to kill you Fitz,” and started to struggle again.

Skye, thankfully, chose that moment to enter the lab, the monkey hanging on to her arm and with a chunk of her hair in its mouth. When she announced, “Fitz, I’m going to kill you.” Grant washed his hands of the whole business.

Fitz had made this bed, he’d get to lie in it.

(Hours later once they had cleaned up most of the mess the monkey had made throughout the Bus, Grant was thankful to the Scotsman. Because apparently, “The monkey ruined my bed, can I sleep in yours?” was an acceptable pickup line for biochemists. And he’s only had to rip his sheets himself a little to make it believable.)


	30. i can't explain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT: "I... CAN'T EXPLAIN" FOR BIOSPECIALIST, PLEASE! :D
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

May had seen a lot of shit. She’d been an agent of SHIELD for long enough that her concept of what was weird was pretty much broken – super powers, space aliens, magic, things that should only be in science fiction – she’d seen it all. Literally.

And yet the sight before her eyes was still enough to make her hesitate.

She’d been gone for maybe a week on a mission, and when she comes back Coulson meets her with haunted eyes and tells her that Simmons needs her. Which is fine, she’s happy to help Simmons.

She’s not happy for “helping Simmons” to mean monitoring an epic Monopoly tournament that the woman had, for some godforsaken reason, set up down in Vault D.

Worse, however, than everything else, is the fact that Simmons is, inexplicably, behind the barrier with Ward. Apparently he needed a partner and she volunteered.

The rest of the agents seem unperturbed about this situation, with only Skye looking up guiltily at her entrance and saying, “I…can’t explain,” and then ducking her head and trying to hide.

Trip, sitting next to her, scoffs loudly and says, “I can explain. Monopoly is the devil’s board game and Simmons and Ward are never allowed to be on the same team again. This shit is rigged.”

May rubs the bridge of her nose and tries to be reasonable. “Simmons, come out of the cell.”

Simmons looks up from her hushed conference with Ward, confused, and says, “But we haven’t won yet.”  


	31. revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC! JEMMA GETS REVENGE (OR ATTEMPTS TO GET REVENGE) ON LORELEI FOR GRANT.
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Jemma almost didn’t recognize her the next time she saw her. Of course, it didn’t matter that she’d started sporting some hideous green body suit – once she saw the woman whispering in men’s ears and their reaction it became obvious whom it was.

She shouldn’t have cared.

Ward was evil. Beyond redemption. Hell, she’d tried to kill him the last time she’d seen him and she’d try again the next time.

But that didn’t really matter, not really.

There were lines in the sand and this woman didn’t care.

Three weeks ago she would’ve hesitated. Three weeks ago she didn’t have the power of the entire Kree species at her fingertips. (She had to wonder at the intelligence of leaving a weapon that could be harnessed by anyone who wasn’t inhuman so easily, but the fact that they hadn’t built in any failsafes was only helping her so she wasn’t really interested in helping them to fix it.)

It took only a moment to have rock locked around the woman’s mouth. The men around her blinked, stupefied and confused about what to do.

Jemma watched the situation dispassionately for a moment, wondering if she actually cared. (Her mind showed her an image of Ward after, trying so hard to be normal but flinching away from her touch when she administered his physical after the fact.)

It was easily enough to let the ground under the woman weaken. To lower her in up to her cheekbones and wait. The woman wasn’t human. Jemma wasn’t sure if she could starve.

No. She’d have to find out what would kill her.

That was fine.

She had time.

And a multitude of chemicals.


	32. not supposed to be on fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT: "I'M 80% SURE THAT ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE ON FIRE." ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Jemma didn’t like working in labs that weren’t hers. Sometimes it was fun to see what different equipment labs had or how they had jerry-rigged what to make it work (there was always something slapped together in every lab), but for long term projects nothing was quite as nice as ones own lab.

Of course, she didn’t always get that option. Especially when she ended up working in whatever HYDRA lab was available while she was on vacation from SHIELD.

The worst part, of course, was getting questioned by people who felt entitled to share the lab with her. Fitz was pretty much the only person she’d accept those sorts of questions from – and he actually was taking his vacation this time because his cousin had just had a baby and his mother was demanding that he show.

So when the low level agent who was just supposed to keep an eye on things in general – mostly to protect her if there was an evacuation – said, “I’m 80 percent sure that isn’t supposed to be on fire,” she spent a few minutes fantasizing about setting him on fire.

Before she could voice any of these desires, however, there came a very familiar voice from the doorway. “And I’m 80 percent sure that questioning her is above your pay grade. Now get out.”

She kept working on her experiment, idly monitoring the blaze on the lab bench out of the corner of her eye, but a smile now stretched her face.

By the time she turned around, done with her work, he was there, smirking at her.

He happily accepted her weight as she threw herself at him, his hands curving under her thighs to hold her up. “Hi sweetheart, miss me?” he asked.

She gave him a quick kiss before hitting his shoulder so he’d let her down. “You know I did, Brock. But I thought you were supposed to be gone for the rest of the month?”


	33. why are you naked?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC! "NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING, BUT ... WHY... ARE YOU NAKED?"
> 
> ASKED BY THESTARFISHDANCER.

Grant wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected when he’d been told that one of his old team was there to see him – he had all of his people trained to know that regardless of how harmless they looked they were dangerous and should be treated that way. So being told that Simmons was in a locked room and that none of his agents had felt the need to stay in there with her – well, he was definitely feeling like they weren’t listening very well.

And then he opened the door.

She was certainly there.

She was also certainly naked.

He paused, shut the door quietly, and turned to Gilez who was right outside the door. “Was she…” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

Gilez, staring fixedly ahead just stated flatly, and Grant suspected he’d been mentally rehearsing. “No sir, she wasn’t wearing or carrying anything when she approached Lorenzo and told him that she wanted to talk to you.”

Grant nodded to himself, took a breath and opened the door again. This time he stepped into the room before shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. “Not that I’m complaining, but…why…are you naked?”

Jemma looked up from the book she’d been paging through and offered him a smile. “My skin is overly sensitive. It’s a side effect – well, not really a side effect so much as it accidentally destroyed my body and so it had to create an entirely new one and new skin is obscenely sensitive.” She stood up and he told himself he was glancing her over to make sure she wasn’t carrying a weapon.

She wasn’t.

Her smile was the sweet smile he was used to seeing when she told him about some new scientific discovery, over tea in the morning before the rest of the Bus woke up. “Thank you for meeting with me. I know you’re busy now. But I think I can be of service to you.”

He couldn’t help but glance her over again.

She tilted her head and her smile morphed into a smirk, but she didn’t blush. “That’s not what I mean, Ward. We can discuss it, but my priority is the destruction of the inhumans, will you help me?”


	34. die on my watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC! "LOOK IF YOU DIE ON MY WATCH, COULSON WILL KICK MY ASS ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE BLOODY UK" SKYELANCE
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

Food poisoning sucked. What sucked worse than food poisoning was being the one who had fed the questionable meal to someone else – without getting any of the symptoms.

Lance fretted and continued to pet Simmons back as she vomited into the toilet.

At least it was Simmons and not someone else. She was angry and pissed off but she was just a bit less vicious than other members of the team.

Really what he meant was that at least it was Simmons and no one else knew yet.

She leaned her head against the cool tile wall and groaned, “I feel like I’m dying.”

He tried to coax her into drinking another mouthful of tea – convinced that it could magically fix this. When she waved him away he sat back on his heels and said, “Look if you die on my watch, Coulson will kick my ass all the way back to the Bloody UK, please don’t die.”

She kept her eyes closed but, after a measured moment, managed to say, “No, Coulson would never make Skye sad on purpose, and she’d be devastated if you left.”

He considered her for a moment before wetting a washcloth and dabbing at her forehead. “Alright, Coulson wouldn’t, but Ward certainly would.”

A weak smile pulled at her lips and she said, “No. Ward would just kill you.”

It wasn’t terribly comforting.


	35. for the record, i hate you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC! (LAST ONE, I PROMISE.) [TEXT] FOR THE RECORD, I HATE YOU. WANNA HAVE SEX? Y/N?
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Grant had mostly called his team’s old cell phone numbers just out of curiosity as to who had the new numbers. He hadn’t expected any of them to have managed to keep the same number throughout the fall of SHIELD – where they literally erased their identities.

Of course, if he had to pick someone out of them to have managed to retain the same number it would’ve been her. The voice mail isn’t her same cheery one as before, it doesn’t even say her name, just her voice repeating the number, but it’s absolutely her.

He’s not sure what to do with this information, so he doesn’t do anything with it. But he might not hang up super fast and so he cannot be too surprised when she calls back an hour later to find out who it is. (And okay, he should’ve checked his caller ID before answering with a curt “Ward”, but he’s been busy building a nazi organization back up.)

He thinks it’s not a horrible mistake for one day.

After that the texts and spam start coming in.

He’s not sure what she’s done to his number – and he mostly suspects that she got help from Skye, but he’s being called 24/7 by “lonely singles in his area”.

The worst part is the text messages though.

The only one he responds to is from her phone and it reads “For the record, I hate you. Wanna have sex? Y/N?”

He sends back a Y and a winky face and gets a voice message of her laughing herself silly for fifteen minutes (she calls back every time the service hangs up on her to record more of it.)

It’s not a great week for him.


	36. smells better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT: "THAT SMELLS BETTER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD." BIOSPECIALIST PLEASE!
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

Grant has had worse days. Of course, he’s had his cover blown when he was undercover and literally had everyone on an island trying to kill him before, so that’s not saying much.

The one bright spot is discovering that apparently that vaccine – antibodies! He can practically hear Simmons in his head correct him – for the Chitauri Virus that Simmons had forced him to take while they were grounded, just incase he’d gotten contaminated before delivering it to her, kept the worst of the symptoms away.

This meant that Simmons didn’t have to cover herself in biohazard gear just to talk to him, unlike everyone else would’ve.

Which made the fact that apparently he had to be covered with some weird chemical mixture to leech the last of the alien chemical out of him somewhat easier.

Of course, he wasn’t looking forward to getting covered in gook – especially not by Simmons and especially not because he was basically in a fishbowl and would have to take off his boxers for the treatment.

Also in his experience it was going to smell nasty. So when Simmons came through the airlock lugging two buckets of something he sighed and reached out to help her. She shot him a bright grin and he couldn’t help but notice that instead of anything chemically or acrid the smell was vaguely floral.

He took a deep breath and tilted his head, looking down at the alarmingly pink mixture in the buckets. “Well, that smells better than I thought it would. It looks like horrible calamine lotion though.”

She frowned at him and glanced him over – which wasn’t totally unusual though he was used to having pants on for this part of her assessment. “Are you itching?”

He shook his head. “No, Simmons, I promise I have no new symptoms. Now, you going to coat me with this stuff?”

She frowned at him before snapping on gloves and doing just that.

Thankfully the peanut gallery left before he had to drop trou.

(The fact that she’d looked impressed when he had would do a lot over the coming 48 hours to sooth his ego as he had to stay contained while covered with pink goop.)


	37. gun in your pocket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "IS THAT A GUN IN YOUR POCKET OR ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME?" + BIOSPEC PLEASE (LOOK! I REMEMBERED TO QUALIFY WITH A SHIP!)
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” what looked like Jemma asked.

Grant hesitated and looked around the room again to make sure this wasn’t some sort of diversion that was going to end up with him killed. Or worse, locked back up in the vault and trying to make nice with his captors. There was definitely no one else in the room and no obvious listening devices.

He looked back to her and she had her hands on her hips and an eyebrow arched. “Well?” she asked, challengingly.

He looked down himself, absolutely sure he wasn’t hard or even really showing himself through the overly thick tactical pants. The gun in his hand was still pointed, albeit lazily, at her. “Simmons…are you…okay?” he asked, honestly a little concerned.

She wrinkled her nose and stamped a foot. “No, no, no, no! That’s not what you’re supposed to say!”

She didn’t look drunk or high or really altered in any obvious way, but she was not behaving like herself. He waited and considered, gun at the ready.

When she continued to not say anything, but kept pouting at him, he finally broke and said, “My gun is in my hand, not in my pants.”

She leered.

He blinked and had to resist the urge to back up.

Over his earbud he could hear his men confirming that they’d managed to clear the rest of the building and that unless that teleporting inhuman was going to show up they were totally in the clear.

That honestly didn’t make him feel much better.

She took a step towards him and he, instinctively, took a step back.

She was still leering.

“So you are happy to see me.”

He considered for a long moment how much face he would lose for actually running out of the room and locking her in – and when she took another predatory step forward he decided it was an acceptable loss and did just that.

Seconds later she was pounding against the, thankfully, thick steel door and shouting, “I want your happy gun!”

The men he assigned to guard the door wouldn’t meet his eyes when he came back, two hours later.


	38. come and get me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT, [TEXT] CAN YOU COME PICK ME UP? MAY HAVE BEEN DRINKING AND MAY HAVE ALSO PUNCHED OUT A GUY FOR TALKING SHIT, PLEASE! :D
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

Jemma was in the middle of doing her ninth review for her biology test when her phone buzzed. She’d set specific buzzes for all of her friends, so she knew before she grabbed it that the buzzbuzz buzz buzzbuzzbuzz meant that it was Lance texting her.

It was a Saturday night, so she honestly had been expecting it. Not necessarily from Lance, but someone, inevitably, ended up texting her while they were out drinking and she wasn’t.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like to have fun, she did. It was that she was a seventeen year old who was getting her third PhD and most of her friends were still in undergrad. She tried to make friends with the people in her programs, but most of them had children and even if she was serious most of the time that didn’t mean she wasn’t a seventeen year old.

So she ignored the phone for another few minutes until she’d reached the end of her chapter and then she flipped her phone open to check what Lance had texted her.

She sighed.

 _Cn u cm pk me up? Been drinkin and pnched a bloke for takin’ piss_ , said the text message.

She searched for her shoes, absently, as she typed back single handedly,  _Your grammar is atrocious. I hope you knocked him out. Are you at the Alley? I’ll be there in ten, try not to hit anyone else._

She made sure her false ID was in her wallet before she locked her door, and then it was only a short drive to pick him up. He hadn’t responded so she was hoping that he hadn’t lost his phone, but instead was at the Alley and hadn’t seen a reason to say anything else.

Of course he wasn’t out front when she pulled up. Fitz and Skye were both good at waiting for her when she came to pick them up, Lincoln had usually started to walk to her, Ward never asked for a ride and May was a better driver drunk than anyone else was sober. Lance, Bobbi and Trip all required her to enter the place and track them down. Bobbi could usually be found in the girl’s bathroom or on top of a table. Trip was always found flirting with a bartender. And Lance was usually found starting shit somewhere.

Per expectation, she could hear Lance saying, “You wanna go mate?” when she got her hand stamped by the doorman.

She sighed and beelined for the biggest crowd of people, locating Lance easily.

He was glaring up at a much taller man and she sighed again before wrapping both of her arms around one of his. “Come on, darling, lets get you home.”

Unfortunately, luck was not on her side and the gentleman he’d been yelling at leered and said, “Wanna get with a real man, sweetheart? I’ll give you the ride of your life.”

And so Jemma let go of Lance’s arm and grabbed his beer out of his hand when he went, berserker style, straight at the other guy’s throat.

He was definitely going to owe her brunch for this.


	39. pretty monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "YES, BUT HE'S A PRETTY MONSTER." + BIOSPEC
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Simmons sighed and rested her chin in her hand. It was definitely a happy sigh and Skye was judging her so hard right now.

“Seriously?” she asked, giving Simmons her best unimpressed look.

Simmons shrugged, eyes not leaving the screen in front of her.

Skye jerked her head back and just stared, horrified, for another moment before saying, “Simmons, he’s a monster. How can you be…ogling him?”

Simmons shrugged again, eyes still fixed on the sight of Ward’s flexing muscles on the security feed. “Yes, but he’s a pretty monster.”

Skye made a noise of outrage.

Simmons didn’t seem to care, lips curling in a smile as he started doing his handstand pushups.

Skye threw her hands in the air and left, unwilling to deal with that kind of betrayal.


	40. snog somebody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I ALMOST MISSED DRUNK!FIC. OR MAYBE I DID MISS IT! BUT IF I DIDN'T..."I JUST WANT TO SNOG WITH SOMEBODY... NOT YOU."
> 
> ASKED BY THESTARFISHDANCER.

There were more awkward situations to be stuck in.

Grant was nearly sure there were more awkward situations to be stuck in. He couldn’t come up with any off the top of his head, but he was definitely sure he wasn’t wrong.

Here he was, the head of HYDRA, petting the back of a de-aged and high enemy as she babbled at him, interspersed with bouts of vomit.

“I just want to snog with somebody… not you.” She whined, cheek resting against the toilet seat.

He wasn’t sure if he should be glad or insulted. Glad because she looked about twelve, and while he wouldn’t have said no to a consenting come on from her as an adult, the combination of her being terribly young and very obviously altered was not super attractive to him.

So he sighed and kept on petting her back, repeating what had become his mantra. “I know, Simmons, but there is no one your age on the base – and if any of the men touch you I’ll kill them.  It’ll be alright.”

She vomited again, which was answer enough, and he signaled to his agent by the door to grab another glass of sparkling water before he went back to mentally cursing all Asgardians in his head. He’d kidnapped Simmons so he could make an example of her for Coulson, but he was not going to terrifying a twelve year old who didn’t even remember why she would have anything against him.


	41. not your color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT, BIOSPECIALIST “I HAVE TO SAY, THAT’S NOT YOUR COLOR.” PLEASE!
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

Jemma was going to die.

Bakshi was looking at her like he knew the inside of her mind and she knew he was going to ask something she couldn’t answer – it was plain as day across his face and she didn’t want to die.

She steeled her spine. She’d gone over how to convincingly lie with May before Coulson had let her head into the Octopus’s Garden (as it was), and pretending to be confident was one of the guidelines that the other woman had given her.

So she would be confident.

Even if she was going to be confident to her death.

Bakshi licked his lower lip and sneered, opening his mouth to say –

“I have to say, that’s not your color.”

She spun around to see the door that she’d had her back to. Ward was leaning against it, relaxed, with his gaze fixed squarely on Bakshi.

Jemma stepped back so she could keep them both within her line of sight with, at least, less head turning.

Bakshi scowled, hands soothing down the puce button down he was wearing under his jacket. “Ward,” he said, “I didn’t realize you were back.”

Ward smirked and gave a shrug, not looking any less relaxed in his stance against the doorframe despite the fact that Jemma was fairly certain he could spring out of it and kill them all in an instant. “I figured,” his eyes cut quickly to Jemma, “Or else you wouldn’t be trying to hit on her.”

Jemma blinked, but didn’t have the chance to say anything that would probably ruin her cover before Bakshi was bristling. “I wasn’t hitting on her!”

Ward’s smirk transformed into a smug grin, “No?” he tilted his head and then looked at Jemma through his lashes as he continued to address Bakshi, “Than my girlfriend can come with me? Good.”

And quicker than she could follow his arm was somehow around her waist and she was being led out of the room, leaving a sputtering Bakshi behind her.


	42. leather pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LEATHER PANTS. THAT'S IT. THAT'S THE PROMPT.
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

“Huh,” Grant said, eyes darting between everyone in the group in front of him. “I’m honestly impressed,” he said, gun not wavering from where it was fixed at May.

The same was not true of most of his men, whose guns were obviously drooping as they stared, wide eyed, at the sight in front of them. He honestly couldn’t blame them.

If he hadn’t seen literally all of them naked (the Bus had only had one shower and three weeks in the lock had broken, accidents did happen) he would’ve probably been just as thrown as his men.

Because the sight was…well.

Whoever had made those leather pants he definitely wanted to give them a present. Maybe a medal.

His eyes, against his aim of not letting his gun waver from the most frightening of them, traced the line of hips and legs and – he gulped and focused again. May was smirking at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Simmons prop a hand on her hip and the agent who was supposed to be watching her actually dropped his gun.

Grant sighed and took a step back as she shot him, cooly, in the chest with her ICER.

Then Skye was…undulating, which was making the leather pants she was wearing do interesting things – and Grant was making a brake for the door because his men were going to get captured, but he wasn’t. Because even though it was tempting to watch them all in their leather pants, he knew they wouldn’t be wearing them down to the vault.

Besides, he knew this room had a security camera, so he could revisit this whenever he wanted to.

He could hear the pop of ICERs as his men got taken out by his team in leather pants.


	43. verge on dirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT, BIOSPECIALIST, MY THOUGHTS, I CONFESS, VERGE ON DIRTY, PLEASE!
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

He traced his fingers down her side, running over her ribs as they expanded and contracted with her heaving breaths. Her eyes were closed, face tilted up towards the ceiling, sweat glistening everywhere.

He leaned down to taste her, where it had pooled in the hollow of her throat.

She shuddered, fingers coming up to grip his hair, and he let her guide him from there down her chest.

He had promised not to leave anymore marks where people could see, she’d said Fitz was getting suspicious about how much makeup she’d taken to wearing. And while part of him wanted Fitz to find out – wanted everyone to find out and know that they couldn’t touch and probably shouldn’t even look – doing so would put her position in danger. He never wanted to put her in danger.

Besides, there were places he could mark and know full well that they’d make her think of him for the weeks that would probably pass before she’d be able to steal way to him again.

It had been a month since the last time. Last time he’d made her come six times.

He was thinking he could double it this time.

But he knew her body just as well as she knew his, and there had to be pauses in the middle or she’d be to sensitive for anything but pain. So he nuzzled, gently, and drank in her contented sigh as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, voice husky as she tugged just enough to get him to stop paying attention to her beautiful breast and instead look up at her.

He smirked and leaned in to leave a small mark between her breasts before resting his chin over it and saying, “My thoughts, I confess, verge on dirty.”

She carded her fingers through his hair again before tugging, though this time it was down. “Well, are you going to do something about it?”

He dropped a kiss to the mark he’d made and resisted just long enough to say, “Oh, I think I will,” and then he let her hand guide him down between her thighs.


	44. help me get this off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK!FIC PROMPT FOR WHENEVER YOU'RE NEXT ACCEPTING: WARD/SIMMONS- "THANK GOD YOU'RE HERE, CAN YOU HELP ME GET THIS OFF? WAIT, YOU'RE NOT (INSERT OTHER TEAM MEMBER HERE)" AT A HOTEL FOR A FUNCTION OR MISSION
> 
> ASKED BY BATSONTHEBRAIN.

Jemma had been struggling with her cocktail dress for several long minutes when the door finally opened. She was sharing the room hotel with Skye and so she turned her back more towards the door with a sigh of relief and grabbed the top of her dress. “Thank god you’re here. Can you help me get this off? The clasp is stuck at the top, it’s a little eyehook…” She trailed off as a warm, large, hand settled on the cutout over the small of her back.

She shivered and didn’t want to look, but not knowing was worse, and so she glanced over her shoulder.

She was sure all the blood drained from her face as she said, shocked, “Oh dear. You’re not Skye.”

The grip she had on the top of her dress was the only thing that kept her from inadvertently flashing him as he, dutifully, unhooked the top and unzipped it.

He was tall and dark and handsome – and definitely not Skye.

“Um.” She stuttered as his hands dropped away – though even that felt like a deliberate caress.

She kept her grip on the top of her dress and turned to face him, taking several steps back. “How did you…” she trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

He smirked, teeth white in an intimidatingly handsome face. “How did I get in?” he asked and flicked a key card from his fingers onto the bed. He hadn’t been holding it a moment ago and she wasn’t sure if she was more worried that he’d gotten it from the front desk or from Skye.

His eyes lingered on where her hands were clutching her silk dress to her chest before he arched an eyebrow and met her eyes. “My name is Grant Ward, I’m here to kidnap you, by the way. So be a good scientist and get dressed.”

She blinked and said, “Wait, what?”

And then he was shrugging at her and she had a moment to recognize, and be relieved about, the ICER in his hand before he was shooting her square in the chest.

She hoped, in the split second before she crumpled to the floor, that she didn’t let go of the top of her dress.


	45. awfully tense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOHH!! DRUNK!FIC PROMPTS! :DD BIOSPECALIST, IF YOU WILL! "YOU SEEM AWFULLY TENSE; ALL WOUND UP. ISN'T THERE ANYTHING I COULD DO TO HELP GET YOUR MIND OFF THE STRESS?" PLEASE AND THANK YOU~~ <3
> 
> ASKED BY SAPPHIREGLYPHS.

“You seem awfully tense; all wound up. Isn’t there anything I could do to help get your mind off the stress?” Grant asked, fingers kneading against her back.

She stifled a moan as he found a spot on her back and chased it relentlessly until the muscle finally unclenched.

She turned her head on the pillow after he’d moved on to straightening her spine with firm fingers and looked at him through half lidded eyes. “This is working quite well, but I’d be open to…other suggestions.”

He smirked and trailed his fingers over the small of her back and then the curve of her ass, where he teased the flesh with light almost not there touches. “Oh? Should I make you some tea? Put on a relaxing movie maybe?”

She pouted at him, not even having the energy to arch into her touch like she wanted to. “You’re horrible,” she said, although her voice made it sound absurdly like a compliment.

“Me, horrible?” He was giving her his most innocent look – good enough to fool anyone, really, so long as he wasn’t doing to them what he was doing to her.

His fingers dipped lower, and despite her how honestly bone weary she was, he wretched a cry out of her as they slipped inside.

She wanted to say it was a specialist thing, although he was the only specialist she’d been with (that she’d ever be with, she knew would be his preference), but he’d somehow managed to find literally every place that gave her pleasure and the exact way to touch all of them within about fifteen minutes of their first sexual encounter.

He was clearly bypassing the slower foreplay today.

Which was fair, she supposed, since she’d almost died – infected with some alien bacteria and jumping out of the plane to keep her cover before he’d gone after her.

Hitting water from the distance she’d jumped would’ve been as hard as landing on concrete, but of course he’d been there to save her, he always was.

She arched, helplessly, as his fingers worked inside her, and when she came with a cry he only softened his touch for a few short moments before starting again – driving her relentlessly through two more orgasms until she was shaking and trying to itch away from his strong fingers.

Only then did he kiss her, finally, whispering, “Don’t ever do something like that to me again,” against her lips.


	46. proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE DRUNK!FIC PROMPTING BECAUSE WHY NOT! BIOSPECIALIST IS ALWAYS PREFERRED, BUT I'LL LET YOUR MUSE DO HER THING. "WAIT... WHO ELSE HAS PROPOSED TO YOU TODAY?"
> 
> ASKED BY THESTARFISHDANCER.

There were a lot of reactions that Grant had anticipated being possible when he got down on his knee and opened the box up towards her.

Her saying, “Oh no, not you  _too_!” was definitely not one of them.

He paused and didn’t open the box, waiting to see if she’d clarify. When she didn’t, still staring at him in horror, he frowned and asked, “Wait. Who else proposed to you today?”

She shifted her weight, suddenly avoiding his gaze and he got up quickly so he could take her chin in a gentle grip and tilt her head. “Jemma,” he prompted, voice soft.

She chewed on her lower lip until he used his thumb to free it from her abuse, and then he had to prompt her again, still soft as he repeated her name.

She let out a shuddering breath and sagged against him. He released her chin and cupped the back of her head instead, cuddling her too him as she shook her head against his chest.

After a few long moments she finally spoke, though he had to strain to hear the words. “Bakshi. Rumlow. Fitz.”

He blinked, hand stilling against her back and then he leaned back so he could peer down into her face. “Wait…seriously?  _All_  of them?”

She looked miserable, but she nodded, eyes fixed on his chest.

He let out a shaky exhale of his own and pulled her tighter against his chest. “And…what did you say?”

It was her turn to pull back and stare at him in disbelief. “I told them no, of course.”

He brushed his thumb over her cheek and nodded, before asking softly, “And me? What do you say to me?”

She turned her head to kiss his palm. “To  _you_  I say…ask me again tomorrow.”


	47. an excellent idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC PROMPT: BIOSPECIALIST, "THAT IS AN EXCELLENT IDEA"
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

Being somehow assigned to be the biochemist for the Avengers had not, so far, been kind to Jemma. On the one hand, she was now better at subterfuge than probably eighty percent of the specialists, but on the other she got kidnapped a kind of ridiculous amount.

This was kidnapping number sixty-eight.

Clint had promised to buy her a cake for kidnaping sixty-nine – and she was masochistically curious as to what sort of cake he’d get for her.

She did have to give these kidnappers some credit – she wasn’t sure what their cause was because they hadn’t yet started monologuing at her and she was gagged. That gave them eighteen points off the bat – and three for not killing anyone else when they took her – and one for not killing her (because she’d be dead and therefore doesn’t care about their point value alternatively) which put them significantly higher than most kidnapping attempts.

Honestly, she’d be giving them compliments if she wasn’t gagged.

But instead she had to deal with them talking about random things – and while they did get an extra four points if they never revealed anything in side comments – it was mostly annoying and she wanted to take off points for the fact that their gossip was probably killing some of her brain cells.

(Luckily she was a genius and the loss of a few brain cells wasn’t going to affect her especially.)

And while her subterfuge skills had significantly improved, that didn’t mean she was using them at all times – and when the small man that the dark woman had referred to as Lorenzo said, “That is an excellent idea!” in regards to some quite frankly terrible relationship advice, she did, perhaps, roll her eyes a little excessively.

Or, at least, she rolled them enough that everyone else seemed to take note. Which was…inconvenient. Mostly because it prompted Lorenzo to radio someone else to, “deal with the hostage” because he thought she was ready to talk.

She rolled her eyes again and considered the multiple ways that Natasha had taught her to escape chair restraints when the most attractive man she’d ever seen in person came into the room. He was kind of ridiculously symmetrical, and if she hadn’t been gagged she was fairly sure she would’ve commented on it.

Luckily everyone was spared that indignity.

More luckily for everyone – since he was honestly attractive enough that she may have given him some small intel just to talk to him and or make him smile – the team showed up then.

And managed to knock everyone out before they ungagged her.

She was  _definitely_  looking forward to interrogating him. She was pretty sure she could convince Natasha it would be good for her training, and if she could convince Natasha than everyone else would follow shortly after.


	48. cleansing power of fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I DON'T THINK THE CLEANSING POWER OF FIRE IS APPROPRIATE HERE" BIOSPECIALIST!
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

Jemma chewed her lower lip and considered before shaking her head and saying, “No – I really don’t think the cleansing power of fire is appropriate here.”

Grant pouted at her – Jemma was confident it counted as a pout and if she wasn’t certain he’d take it the wrong way she’d absolutely take a photo on her phone and send it to Skye to prove how much like a sad puppy he looked when he pouted (Skye was convinced he probably looked more like grumpy!cat when he pouted).

Instead she let out a huff of breath and pointed out what should’ve been more than apparent to him. “These plants – as you well know from the mission in Siberia – explode when exposed to intense heat, and their explosion will set off a chain reaction and since we have nothing to hide behind…” she trailed off and gestured expansively with her hand.

He continued to pout. “I’d protect you.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Or you could just shoot the single gun flower and I won’t have to deal with treating your back for probably third degree burns.”

His pout seemed to get deeper.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and offered, “I’ll tell the team you took a shot that no one else could’ve made  _and_  I’ll treat your scrapes from this mission like they’re life threatening.”

She’d barely finished saying it before he’d shot the plant dead.


	49. red flag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "AND THAT DIDN'T RAISE A RED FLAG?"
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

Grant had been on the Bus long enough before his unfortunate exit that he no longer automatically considered himself the smartest person in any room – but he was quickly getting there again as he dealt with his newly made HYDRA team.

He rubbed between his eyes and took several deep breaths before asking, “And that didn’t raise a red flag?”

Turpin, to her credit, winced. But Lorenzo was the one in charge of the impressively unsuccessful mission – and he seemed un-phased.

Grant vowed to re-evaluate everyone instead of just trusting the SHIELD evaluations that had been previously done on them, because there had clearly been some other factors in play instead of strictly skill. The reports told him that the three non commanding members of the team (who had survived) had all quoted Turpin as trying to convince Lorenzo not to charge into the room without visual…and that he’d done it anyways.

He hadn’t quite decided how he wanted to deal with discipline for  _his_  HYDRA yet – but when Lorenzo shrugged and said, “That science bitch from your old team was in the room – we knew that much,” and then continued with, “I managed to shoot her, though only through the arm,” he quickly decided.

Turpin, to her increased credit, just stepped over Lorenzo’s body, saluted, and said, “He only grazed her forearm, and I was able to keep them unaware of who was guiding us – they do know there’s a new enemy, but not that you’re leading us, Sir.” She considered but didn’t leave parade rest and continued, “There did seem to be some distance between the chemist and the hacker – she hesitated before coming to her aid. I didn’t have time to gather more intel, but we could potentially use that.”

Giving Turpin a raise, after that, was the only logical conclusion.


	50. hakuna matata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIX PROMPT - "NOPE! I'M ABOUT TO HAKUNA MATATA THIS SHIT AND NOT WORRY ABOUT UNTIL MY FATHER COMES BACK TO SPEAK TO ME IN THE FORM OF A CLOUD!"
> 
> ASKED BY SAPPHIREGLYPHS.

Jemma had been doing research in the lab all afternoon – but it was pretty clear when she finally wandered into the common area that something had happened.

Fitz was clutching a pillow that had been cut open to his chest and whispering the numbers of pi to it. Ward was staring at his fingers, which he kept bringing together, giggling, and then pulling apart. May was flat on her back, staring at the ceiling and blowing kisses to it. Coulson was just running his tie through his fingers in fascination. And Skye, when Jemma entered, turned to her and said, very seriously, “I can’t gargle a cantaloupe! Now, a watermelon for sure! But a cantaloupe? Nope! I’m about to Hakuna Matata this shit and not worry about until my father comes back to speak to me in the form of a cloud!“

It took two hours for Jemma to get everyone locked into the Cage – Skye was the easiest, since she apparently thought that Jemma was her cloud!father. Coulson was difficult since he didn’t respond to any outside stimulus until she dangled ties in front of his face. May went easily, much to Jemma’s relief. Fitz followed his pillow. And Ward actually ended up just clinging to her hand while she called the nearest SHIELD base for backup.

She’d been thinking 0-8-4.

She had not been thinking someone spiking their water supply with a new strain of ecstasy.

Ward cried when the specialists pried him away from her to lock him up.


	51. tell me that's a gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC! (I REMEMBERED!) BIOSPEC! "PLEASE TELL ME THAT'S A GUN."
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Jemma was pretty much over the thought that anything was going to go right, ever again, for her. The string of bad luck that somehow hadn’t climaxed with her being transported to an alien planet where she was hunted, was still going strong and she was just mentally throwing her hands up in the air and admitting defeat.

Mentally because her hands were tied, tightly, behind her back.

She did still have the shiv she’d made on the alien planet tucked against her wrist, they hadn’t searched her very hard, but she was going to wait to try to break out until they weren’t actively making her walk somewhere.

“Hey – what are you – ouch!” She was being shoved towards something that was glowing and shimmering in a doorway, and she was willing to admit that she had balked at the sight of it, but that was no reason to poke her in the ribs!

The man behind her mumbled something she didn’t understand, and then pushed her, hard, and she stumbled through the doorway.

The room on the other side didn’t look like anything like the corridor she’d come from, and when there wasn’t immediately someone prodding her, she turned around.

The corridor behind her, through the bars of the door that hadn’t been there before, was painted an off green that made her feel a little nauseated.

The hallway had been blue, when she’d walked through it minutes ago.

There was the drag of fabric against stone, from further into the room, and she let her shiv drop to her hand and started sawing at the zip ties holding her wrists together. “I have a weapon! Stay where you are!” she said, backing into a corner she could defend.

The man who stepped closer to her was barely recognizable, with long shaggy hair and a full beard and scars – so many scars.

But she would recognize his eyes anywhere.

“Please tell me that it’s a gun,” Ward said. And then he blinked, and asked, voice breaking halfway through on a sob, “Jemma?”

Her zip tie fell to the floor behind her and she watched him, warily, as he fell to his knees and started to sob.

Oh yeah, this string of bad luck clearly wasn’t going to end anytime soon.


	52. made it explode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC, BIOSPECIALIST, "BUT WHAT IF WE MADE IT EXPLODE?"
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

Fury thinks that someone is trying to find out more information about Coulson – and Fury wants him safe.

That’s the only reason Grant was willing to accept this mission. Because Fury specifically asked him, as a favor.

He’s only been on the team for three days and he’s already regretting literally all of his life choices.

“But what if we made it explode?” asks Simmons, the woman who he’s starting to think might be who the whole concept of ‘mad scientist’ was created to describe. Which, considering that she had been recruited from an environmental terrorist organization before her very brief SHIELD training, is a pretty accurate description for her.

Fitz – who had been building bombs since he was eight, mostly to protest nuclear power – scoffs and waves a blueprint through the air. “Are you insane?” Grant privately thinks that everyone on this goddamn team is – he is a specialist with a very dark past who legitimately finds it easier to kill people than talk to them, and he is definitely the most well adjusted member of the team – but that Coulson must be the most insane because he hand picked this bunch of madmen. “It would collapse sideways, look at the structural integrity of this wall – No, no, we shouldn’t make it explode, but if we target the bedrock down here…”

He and Simmons put their heads together over the blueprint and start talking back and forth in half sentences and single words.

Skye – recruited off the fly, also from a terrorist organization, though she bristles when Rising Tide is called as such – comes bursting in a few minutes later. “I know where they’re holding the puppies!”

Coulson and May are short to follow.

He’s seen May kill a man with a Q-Tip because she didn’t like his aftershave.

And somehow Grant was the one with a mark for ‘potential to become unstable’ on his file. That was totally fair.

The mission, for what it’s worth, does go off without a hitch. Fitz and Simmons may be insane, but they know their jobs and are damned good at them. And once they’d had the smugglers surrounded and cut off, well they had most of them surrendering with just one look from May (which officially makes them the most sane people Grant has seen in days). Right now Skye is with Coulson, talking about the other leads she’d found on their servers.

Grant is contemplating how unprofessional having a beer (or nine) would be at two in the afternoon, when Simmons slides up to him.

He turns to her and waits, more than a little worried that she’s going to knock him out to test some new drug, again.

She smiles at him, brightly, and says, “So, how do you feel about ‘yay, our mission was a success, sex’?”

He takes a moment to examine her face.

Yeah. Everyone on this team is out of their goddamn mind.

He might be okay with it.

He smiles.


	53. dreamt about you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC, BIOSPECIALIST, "I DREAMT ABOUT YOU LAST NIGHT"
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

It’s their usual bar, so Jemma is expecting him. And because she’s expecting him she’s expecting someone to come up, looming, behind her and to wait beyond the bounds of social politeness before he says anything.

Because he’s an ass.

And their bar time might be sacred – I.E. they’ve agreed not to use any knowledge the other accidentally reveals in a drunken haze and they aren’t allowed to try to kill each other – but he’s still an ass.

So she doesn’t even so much as twitch when there’s someone standing behind her for a few long moments, though it’s not quite his style to deliberately breathe against the back of her neck. She assumes he’s trying something new.

And then there’s vaguely familiar voice saying, “I dreamt about you last night,” and her back is stiffening because it is a familiar voice but it’s the  _wrong_  familiar voice.

She takes a deep breath; white knuckles her cup and turns slowly, hoping for the first time in years for Ward to show up. “Daniels,” she says, doing her best for neutral but coming off more terrified than she wants, “I thought you were locked away.”

He blinks, slowly, at her, and she flinches back when he moves his hand to lean against the bar close to her side. “Please, call me Marcus.”

She regrets that they don’t schedule their meetings – that it’s just random that sometimes both her and Ward are drinking here and – it took the whole team and some risky rigs to catch Daniels last time, so it’s not like she should actually think that Ward could do anything against him.

She’s a little surprised, still, to realize that if Ward was there she would feel safe. She’s not sure he could take Daniels down, but she realizes she believes he could make sure she stayed safe at the very least. It is a daunting realization and one she should probably consider the implications of.

Of course, she doesn’t exactly have time for that right now.

Daniels tilts his head and asks, “Don’t you want to know what my dream was about?”

She really, really doesn’t.


	54. slither-in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIOSPECIALIST - "MAY I... SLITHER-IN?" HOGWARTS AU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE?!
> 
> ASKED BY SAPPHIREGLYPHS.
> 
> This is a kind of sequel to [“are you really that shallow”](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/post/128298899349/biospecialist-are-you-really-that-shallow), I say kind of b/c I am drunk and am not 100% sure I haven’t contradicted myself and also there is a tense change between the fics which is regrettable but it’s too late now, so. <3

Jemma had known, before accepting the position, that after her own professor (Professor Weaver) had retired (two years after her own graduation – still the youngest to graduate from Hogwarts, taking her NEWTS at fourteen) no professor had kept the Potions Teacher position for more than two years. But she hadn’t fully understood what that would mean for her stores.

She had a truly ridiculous amount of some ingredients – located all over the room in no discernable order and labeled by all different hands – none of others, and a fair number of completely unknown ingredients without any legible label.

She wished she had considered this more fully before leaving her position at the Ministry. Not that she wouldn’t have accepted the position, of course, but she would’ve been able to take a lot of their excess stores and it would have made this whole process infinitely easier.

She only seriously considered assigning it to some of the seventh years in detention for a moment, and then felt terrible that she ever considered it. Instead she sighed and got back to her work.

There was a soft knock against the outside door of the potions classroom, and she welcomed the distraction, calling, “Come on in!” and putting a jar of what she thought might be slug hearts but would have to test to make sure they weren’t snail hearts instead, and brushing her hands off on her robe.

She was just walking out of the stores room when a dark head peaked out from behind her half open door. “May I…Slither-in?” he asked with a smirk.

She groaned and waved a hand, leaning against her desk. “Only if you promise not to make anymore terrible jokes.”

He grinned and stepped fully into the room.

She’d gone to school with him, and although he was several years older than her, they’d graduated at the same time, and formed a somewhat unlikely friendship. Slytherins and Ravenclaws got along fairly well, it was more the blood status and age difference that made their friendship unusual, although for all of being Pureblooded he’d never once made her feel lesser. He had teased her about her age, but he’d also scared off bullies on more than one occasion, so she was willing to accept it from him.

She spread her hands and tilted her head. “So? What can I help you with? Or were you just missing the dungeons? I’d trade you, I know you Slytherins like the dark damp dungeons, but the Dark Arts classroom has too much sunlight for ninety percent of the potions I’m teaching.”

Grant stepped forward and waved a hand, she’d taught him wandless magic, though he wasn’t as good as her, and a package appeared in his other hand. “A welcoming present – it’s good to have you here.”

She blushed, despite her best efforts, as she took it from him.


	55. halloween costumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC + ANYONE FROM AOS + TURNED INTO THEIR HALLOWEEN COSTUMES
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Simmons – he was not thinking of her as Marie, despite her insistence that that was her name – was dying of radiation poisoning. Fitz was currently flinging dirt around – Grant was really hoping that it didn’t disintegrate into actual shit slinging, though he wasn’t super hopefully because monkeys – and yelling. He didn’t even want to think of what May as a Ninja was up to – but he was really hoping it wasn’t something he’d have to deal with later. Coulson being Captain America was, actually, being surprisingly helpful. He didn’t really have time to worry about Skye – or more accurately, how to get her to stop being some internet meme that was on literally all of the computers on the bus (what did “can’t even” even mean?) – what with him trying to haunt Coulson into fixing the fact that there was on 0-8-4 out there turning people into their Halloween costumes.

He didn’t even want to think about what the kids that Simmons had coo-d over earlier, as they’d gotten supplies in town, were up to. One of them had been dressed up like a dragon. There were, at least, a dozen princesses though, so hopefully he was more the kidnapping dragon sort instead of the killing and razing.

And…He kind of hated everything that had brought him to this sort of acceptance.

“No Coul—I mean Cap, I think we should investigate that suspicious looking man hauling around the huge diamond?” He was hovering, but he didn’t really have much of a choice.

He sighed when Coulson went off in the other direction – those men weren’t even dressed as Nazis, just in German drinking clothes and –

Fuck his life.


	56. stop doing this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC; WARD X SIMMONS - "DO YOU EVER THINK WE SHOULD JUST STOP DOING THIS?"
> 
> ASKED BY SAPPHIREGLYPHS.

“Do you ever think we should stop doing this?” Lance asked, frowning in concentration.

Jemma blinked and looked at him in confusion. “What, checkers?” She proceeded to jump two of his pieces.

He scowled at her and waved a hand lazily through the air. “No, the whole playing with mortals thing.”

She wrinkled her nose and then narrowed his eyes when he managed to move a piece in a way that ruined her plan for her next move. She thought to Grant Ward, 29, resting sated and exhausted in her bed, and shrugged. “I don’t think they mind so much.”

Lance rolled his eyes at her, like he thought she didn’t know about his mortal lover. “I mean like the one you kept stealing chemicals from – he’s in jail you know, suspicion of terrorism ties.”

She shrugged and then smiled suddenly when she realized he’d opened himself up to a checkers massacre. “He was into child pornography, although he was surprisingly good at hiding it, I’m not going to feel guilty about that.”

Her brother scowled down at the board – he only had three pieces left and was vastly out numbered. Jemma leaned back with a smug grin.


	57. (stop doing this) adorable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC BIOSPECIALIST WITH A SIDE OF HUNTER/SIMMONS BROTP "WELL, AREN'T YOU ADORABLE!"
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.
> 
> This is in the same universe as ‘stop doing this’. <3

There was a short list of things that Jemma really, really  _didn’t_  like. Cheek pinches were pretty high on the list.

Her fingers itched and she shot her brother a glare. It would be so easy to erase this mortal from existence.

But they had a bet.

“Well, aren’t you just  _adorable_!” the little while haired old lady coo-d, patting the cheek she’d just pinched.

Jemma forced a smile, and flicked a finger.

Lance yelped as he had the sudden feeling of being engulfed in flames.

The woman, predictably, turned to him, concerned.

Lance’s grimace was more obvious as he got his cheeks pinched.

And then she won the bet when, once he’d turned his back on the little while haired old biddy, he vanished in a puff of smoke because the mortal had pinched his ass.

Jemma didn’t mind erasing her memory, especially not as she got a good five minutes to laugh herself sick before Lance managed to reappear.

“I still don’t like him,” Lance said, once they’d escaped the mortal hell that was an assisted care facility.

Jemma grinned, smug in her victory. “Doesn’t matter – you made the bet, you have to find a way to make him immortal for me now.”

Lance scowled and vanished – probably to go whine to Bobbi about how horrible his life was.

Jemma vanished back to her own room – no time had passed for Grant, asleep in her bed. She’d found the disease eating away at him the last time they’d made love, and her powers didn’t lend themselves to healing – neither did Lance’s for that matter, but he’d made a deal and he’d honor it.

She curled up against him, her clothes vanishing with a thought, assured that before the disease had ravaged his organs she’d have a solution for him – if he wanted to take it.

 

 


	58. (stop doing this) pathetic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNKFIC HUNTER/SIMMONS BROTP "HOW DID WE GET SO PATHETIC?"
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.  
> Same universe as ‘aren’t you adorable’ and ‘stop doing this’. Possibly between the two. Idk, drunk me apparently really likes this universe. I’m sorry?

“Wow,” Jemma said, legitimately amazed, “You’re actually in love.”

“Shut up,” Lance muttered into the pillow his face was currently buried in.

Jemma poked him and dodged the foot he tried to use to kick her. “No, really, you’re actually in love – I don’t – you’ve been fucking mortals for what, five hundred years? Why is she different?”

Lance raised his head so he could shoot her a glare (and probably get a better idea of where to aim future kicks). “Why is your, what the hell is his name, Grady?, different.”

She tilted her chin up, but refused to raise to the bait and correct him. “That’s not an answer.”

He dropped his head back to the pillow with a groan. Muttering out, “How did we get so pathetic?” into the unforgiving cotton.

She sighed and patted his shoulder.

He’d always been such a drama queen. It was just love, not a death sentence.


	59. asking nicely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC + PRE-SHIP WS + "THIS IS ME ASKING NICELY!"
> 
> ASKED BY BATSONTHEBRAIN.

Simmons was waiting when he exited the Cage, arms crossed and face surprisingly dark.

Grant stopped, after he’d shut the door securely behind him, and arched an eyebrow.

She didn’t say anything, though her scowl kept getting deeper, so he finally asked, “What?”

She straightened to her full height, head back to meet his gaze. “We were watching the video in the lab – what was that?”

He blinked and mentally rewound the interrogation in his head. He couldn’t come up with anything that would cause that tone, so he waved a hand back at the door, and said, “An interrogation.”

She frowned and crossed her arms. “You made it sound like he was a threat to me.”

He understood, suddenly, and shifted forward a step into her personal space. She’d either have to back up or leave him there – he was honestly expecting her to retreat, but instead she held her ground, tilting her head even further back to meet his gaze. “He has pictures of you from when you were getting your doctorates, I’m not going to assume he’s not a threat to you.”

She poked his chest, and he refused to examine how tight any touch from her, regardless of how violent, made his chest feel. “He had pictures of other people – and even still, you didn’t have to be so threatening about it.”

He captured her hand, took half a step forward and leaned down until his forehead was almost touching hers, “He has photos of you, he has a history of violence, and he makes my skin crawl, trust me when I tell you – this is me asking him nicely to explain – when I threaten him, you will know.”

He wanted to leave, to pace off and work off his residual anger on a punching bag – but she’d shown a surprising amount of lack of sense when it came to her own safety, and so there was no way he was going to leave her access to the cage when there was a direct threat to her there. So he stepped forward until they were chest to chest – painfully pleased when she took a stumbling step back, muttered a, “I can take care of myself,” and retreated.

He would protect her, even if she didn’t want it – he’d vowed that since the first day he’d met her.


	60. peeping tom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC! BIOSPEC + IT'S CALLED SPYING! IT'S NOT LIKE HE'S SOME PEEPING TOM.
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Jemma likes to pretend she’s an optimist, but in reality she’s always been a pragmatist – which means she expects a certain amount of incompetence from most people, to be honest.

She’s willing to admit, however, that she wasn’t expecting quite this level within SHIELD.

She blinks at the severe white haired woman, trying to decide if she’s kidding, before she finally offers, voice tart, “It’s called  _spying_. It’s not like he’s some – I don’t know – peeping Tom. You do know that this is literally the position you not only  _hired_  him for, but also trained him for…right?”

The woman steeples her fingers and gestures at one of the men at her side – a folder gets placed on the table and pushed forward until Jemma can reach it. She hesitates, then opens it, when it becomes clear they’re waiting for that.

She shuts it just as quickly and stares at the woman in horror and shock. Agent Armstead arches an eyebrow. “Still want to tell me it’s just spying?”

Jemma sputters and pulls the photos to her chest. “Fine – yes, this wasn’t  _spying_ , but these photos are private and – I did give him permission it’s not like – How did you get them?” She’s not sure if she’s more shocked or embarrassed, and the conflicting emotions are making her voice crack, but considering that there’s a possibility that everyone in this room has potentially not only seen her naked but in some very interesting positions, she doesn’t feel like her reaction is unwarranted.


	61. who, or what, was that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIX, BIOSPECIALIST, "WHO, OR WHAT, WAS THAT?" PLEASE AND THANK YOU!
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

Jemma was drunk.

To be fair, it wasn’t her fault – and also to be fair, so was everyone else who had been exposed to the toxin.

But she’d always prided herself on being a fairly competent drunk. (It was possible that she’d written twenty pages of her first thesis drunk off her ass – and been complimented specifically on a passage within those twenty pages.)

But this didn’t make any sense.

She leaned heavily against Ward – he was wearing a gas mask, as she’d advised through the comms when she’s realized there was an airborne intoxicant in the building – and squeezed one eye shut to try to make the wavering picture in front of her make sense.

It still didn’t, but she was willing to think it might be her that was keeping it from making sense – that even given her competent drunkenness there were lines and this was one of them.

Also she was more drunk than she’d been in a long,  _long_ , time – and didn’t reactions to alcohol change with age? She was pretty sure she’d read a paper about that, but she couldn’t remember the authors and normally she  _always_  knew the authors of papers so maybe she was making it up… – but she was pretty sure it didn’t make sense.

She tried squinting her other eye shut to make it make a coherent picture. It still didn’t make sense to her, so she finally asked, tilting her head up where it had been leaning against Ward’s chest and asking, “Who, or  _what_ , was that? Please tell me it wasn’t actually a dog in a space suit – because while it would be nice to not be hallucinating, I’m not sure I can take that being reality.”

He stared down at her for a moment – and she’d always thought his eyes were kind of a boring brown, but being this close to them she realized there were flecks of a warm chocolate and kind of a golden and – she wondered what he’d say if she told him that he had very pretty eyes? Probably get all awkward. Maybe she’d tell him the next time they were playing scrabble – just to mess up his game. Finally he spoke into his comm, “Yeah, okay.”

He wasn’t sure what he was responding to, but then, she’d removed her comm because it was making her ear itch and then she was thinking of those translator fishes in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – they’d always freaked her out and – “You have really pretty eyes. You’d look good with eyeliner.”

Ward’s lips twitched, and for a moment the look in his eyes was completely alien – not like any way she’d ever seen him look – and then it was gone, behind a veneer of concern and worry.


	62. hovering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC BIOSPEC "WHY ARE YOU HOVERING IN MY LAB?" HOVERING CAN MEAN THE LITERAL OR METAPHORICAL SENSE!
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

Jemma takes a deep breath and tries to channel the calm that Dr. Garner has been trying to get her to work on.

It doesn’t work.

She closes her eyes and counts to ten instead.

Nope. No luck.

“Why are you hovering my lab?” she finally snaps, patience gone.

Her eyes are still closed, so she misses Ward’s smirk and grandiose hand gesture. “Your lab? Oh no, I don’t think so.”

She opens her eyes and looks at him. “What are you talking about – Trestas Industries is – Oh you have got to be kidding me!”

He grins, and shrugs, totally nonrepentant. “The symbol of their brand is a fish, I did have to talk them out of an octopus – too obvious, you know?”

She considers banging her head against the lab table in front of her – of all the private companies to choose.


	63. just one night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC; WARD X SIMMONS - IT WAS SUPPOSE TO JUST BE ONE NIGHT.
> 
> ASKED BY SAPPHIREGLYPHS.

Grant had never expected to have a soul mate – let alone to find one. He pretended to be someone else nearly all the time, with only small breaks when missions allied close enough to his actual personality to allow some freedom. There were numerous stories that grade school teachers were especially fond of repeating about how liars didn’t have soulmates, because you had to be honest about who you were to be open to accepting your true other half.

Grant’s parents had been soulmates, so he was pretty comfortable with the thought of never having one.

The design that had appeared on his hand, exactly twenty-four hours after he had come, told him that he’d assumed wrong.

He almost considered letting it go – if he and her didn’t complete the bond within a month it would fade but…so would his ability to get hard, beyond any Viagra. And it had been really amazing sex.

Explaining that he wasn’t actually James Arnold was going to be a bit of a problem but…Jemma Simmons was his soulmate. She had to accept that…didn’t she?


	64. it's my birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF I DIDN'T MISS DRUNK!FIC (PLEASE DON'T LET ME HAVE MISSED DRUNK!FIC!), THEN I WOULD LOVE ME SOME BIOSPECIALIST “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY AND I’LL HAVE AN ORGASM IF I DAMN WELL WANT TO." PLEASE AND THANK YOU!
> 
> ASKED BY THESTARFISHDANCER.

It was Skye’s birthday – which theoretically meant that what she said went but…there were lines and she was out of control.

“Oh, Skye, honey, no,” Jemma said, taking the test tube shot out of the other girl’s hand and handing them back to the disgruntled waitress.

“I want another shot!” Skye announced, uncaring that Jemma had literally just taken one out of her hand, “I want a screaming orgasm!”

Jemma sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, “Skye…I don’t think –“ what Skye needed was water. Jemma wasn’t trying to ruin the birthday girl’s fun, but she’d known Skye since they were both in diapers, and if she continued this way she’d spend the next several hours vomiting and regretting everything, whereas if she started dancing and just having fun the night would turn out fine but…Once Skye started drinking she wanted to keep drinking.

Skye pouted, and Jemma could practically see the male population of the bar perk up as Skye, loudly announced, “It’s my birthday and I’ll have an orgasm if I damn well want to.“

Jemma grimaced, but was rescued by Uptown Funk coming on – Skye predictably squealed, “I love this song!” and grabbed ahold of Jemma’s hand to drag her to the dance floor.

After Uptown Funk there was another song that was Skye’s ‘favorite’, and Jemma managed to keep Skye from drinking anything else but water for the remainder of the evening.

When she finally managed to crawl into bed, several hours later, she was dirty, still a little drunk, and far too exhausted to risk showering. Luckily her bedmate didn’t care, and he woke up when she landed half on him, pulled her further into his embrace without grumbling and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “How did it go?”

“Your sister is a menace, Grant.” He smelled clean and was warm and it was good to be home.

She felt his laugh through her bones, and he started to brush through her tangled hair carefully with his fingers. “She’s your best friend.”

She sighed and felt boneless against him. “Mmhmm,” she hummed, slowly being lulled to sleep by the repetitive motion of his hands and sheer exhaustion.

It had been a fun night, even if keeping her from spending the night vomiting had been a bit of work.


	65. bad idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC + TEAM PLAYGROUND (WARD INCLUDED) + "IT'S NOT THAT IT'S A BAD IDEA, IT'S JUST THAT IT'S YOUR IDEA. YOUR IDEAS USUALLY NEED CRASH HELMETS."
> 
> ASKED BY BATSONTHEBRAIN.

Grant is understandably suspicious when May shows up outside the vault, looking more than a little disheveled and wild eyed. Of course, he’s playing up the ‘I regret everything, I’m so sorry’, so he doesn’t let any of that suspicion show, but it’s still there.

Having her release him and drag him upstairs – without restraining him at all! – is both rewarding and alarming.

That she then shoves him unceremoniously into a room that everyone else is in, all looking equally disheveled and wild eyed, ups the alarmed feeling.

Simmons and Fitz both glance at him, giving tired smiles, and turn back to the conversation they’re having with three people he doesn’t recognize. Trip and Skye are leaning over a computer, arguing in hushed tones.

Coulson nods at him and rubs the bridge of his nose before walking over to peer at the screen that Trip and Skye are pointing at.

Simmons is hissing something at a short white man he doesn’t know, and he can’t make out what she’s saying until her voice rises in a shrill crescendo, “It’s not that it’s a bad idea, it’s just that it’s your idea. Your ideas usually need crash helmets.”

The man doesn’t seem to take offence, shrugging and waving a hand through the air. He’s also got an English accent, though it’s from a different region than Simmons’, and significantly more lower class, “There are fucking zombies, do you really think crash helmets are going to do any good?”

Grant blinks and holds his hands out to try to draw attention to himself. Them letting him out is starting to seem less like forgiveness and more like ‘we’re all going to die anyways, what does it matter?’ “Wait, zombies?” he finds himself saying, though it feels ridiculous to voice.

The blond woman he doesn’t recognize scoffs, accepts a tablet from the large black man, and then shoves it into his hands. “It’s the zombie apocalypse, read up because we’re trying to figure out how to survive it.”

He blinks again and starts to scan the headlines.

Well. It’s not ideal, but the fact that the team let him out at all is a very good sign.


	66. motel room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC! GRANT + JEMMA + A MOTEL ROOM
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Jemma has had to stay in some fairly low rent places, but none of them have anything on the E-Z-Time Motel.

When she peels back the bedspread on the single queen sized bed – and considering that Ward kidnapped her from HYDRA after murdering what was left of his family she honestly can say she’s not surprised about him insisting on single bed rooms because he is clearly unstable, but she’s a little annoyed it’s not a king – and finds a pair of ladies underwear (stained) she throws a very polite fit.

Polite mostly because even though she didn’t pass her field exam they did go over hostage situations and that staying calm is important but…

Used ladies underwear.

Her fit consists mainly of sitting on the ground, by the bed, even though she knows if underwear got folded into the bed spread than there is no chance the ground isn’t covered in all manner of human and animal discharge, and refusing to move.

Ward sighs and crosses his arms. “Get up, Simmons.”

She doesn’t look at him, instead staring fixedly in front of her and not letting her eyes refocus when he walks into her line of sight. “I am not sleeping here. I would rather sleep outside than in this room. Do you know the number of diseases we could be contracting simply from touching any surface in here?”

She can hear him sigh again, and then she’s getting hauled to her feet. His hands are tight but not painful on her upper arms when he hauls her up, and she’s momentarily impressed that he can lift her so easily. She knows she’s small but she does have more muscle than one would expect and she’s not exactly light.

Impressed is probably not what she should be feeling, but she’s too tired to be afraid and the fact that he hasn’t so much as verbally threatened her since he took her hostage is slowly wearing her down.

“I don’t have the funds for somewhere nicer, so this will have to do.” His voice is firm, but still oddly gentle.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion or the disgust of the room or something else, but she speaks without thinking about the possibly consequences of her words. “Or you could lock me in here somehow and go and rob some of the other guest so we could stay somewhere we’re less likely to get both bed bugs and pubic lice.”

The kiss is fast and hard and then there’s a steel handcuff around her wrist attached to the radiator. “You are incredible,” he says and is out the door.

She stands shocked for a moment before sitting back down.

She tired and she’s already been seated on the floor, so she’ll already have to burn these pants as soon as Ward can be talked into buying her a new pair, no use contaminating the back of her shirt by leaning against the wall.


	67. cookie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT! BIOSPECIALIST, "I'LL GIVE YOU A COOKIE!"
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

Grant is used to playing parts. He’s used to being someone he’s not and it’s not, generally, something that causes any particular issues because he is  _very_  good at his job.

Which is perhaps why pretending incompetence is one of the few things that grate on him.

He still does it, when it’s required of him of course, but he doesn’t like it. And, okay, maybe he’s trying to show off a little – which is not in his character profile but…

Jemma Simmons may not be Ted Winsheds’ type but she is exactly Grant Ward’s type.

Which makes the entire situation delicate. Which is why he doesn’t kill Leopold Fitz when he responds to Grant’s intelligent and reasonable suggestion with, “Oh, that almost made sense! Do you want a cookie? I’ll give you a cookie.”

The fact that Jemma is frowning at Fitz helps, of course. But what really soothes Grant’s ego is the fact that Fitz is being extra rude due to the fact that Jemma has not even vaguely subtly been eyeing Grant’s musculature since he came in.

There is a blush high on her cheeks and though she’s talking with multi-syllable words that Ted doesn’t know, Grant does and they are all extremely complimentary. (It’s a struggle not to return the looks or the appreciation, especially when she seems to instinctively lay her small palm over his heart while doing his physical and – well, it’s good she’s just checking his stitches instead of doing a  _full_ physical.)

So instead of killing Fitz he keeps his eyes locked on Jemma and says, voice laden with innuendo, “I’d love a cookie.”

Her blush races down her neck and he can’t even regret how little regard he’s giving Ted.


	68. can i kiss you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT! BIOSPECIALIST, "CAN I KISS YOU?"
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

“Can I kiss you?” asks the most attractive man she’s ever seen.

She can’t remember much. Well, that’s not true. She can remember everything up until about two years previously – the doctors tell her it’s a not uncommon side effect of her procedure (she doesn’t even remember being diagnosed with a brain tumor or any of the meetings with her physicians she’s sure she insisted on) and that there is a chance of recovery.

But for now she can’t remember the past two years of her life, including what happened yesterday.

She only knows about the tumor removal because she wrote it down in a notebook and she recognizes her own handwriting.

So when the tall dark haired man with killer cheekbones asks, she doesn’t hesitate more than a moment (he is very attractive) before apologizing, “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are?”

He smiles, straight white teeth and his eyes are sparkling and – oh dear. He’s very pretty – and says, “I’m Grant, your fiancé.”

She looks down and there is a ring on her finger – she can’t remember it, but she can’t remember what she had for breakfast, though she’s vaguely sure she ate it so…”Oh,” she manages, looking back up at him. “Are you SHIELD as well?”

He brushes his fingers against her cheek. “We haven’t used SHIELD in a while – well, about a year and a half ago we changed the name to HIDRA – that’s for Homeland Intervention Defense and Recovery Association.” He laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “We spell it H-Y-D-R-A though, which is, well, it’s a joke that, it’s hard to explain. Some of our old agents went rogue though and reclaimed SHIELD so…” His face falls with his words and she wants to comfort him. There’s something vaguely familiar about HYDRA, which lends credence to his words.

He’s closing off before her eyes, so she changes the subject, while reaching for her notebook so she can make note of what she’s just learned. “How long have we been engaged?”

He smiles, bright like the sun, and says, “Six months. But we met a year and a half ago and I knew immediately.”

She’s oddly glad for the fact that she’s anemic, according to her notes, because she can’t feel any heat raise to her cheeks, as she doesn’t have blood to spare. His smile is devastating and she’s not sure how she got so lucky.


	69. nice dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH, YAY, IT'S DRUNK!FIC TIME "NICE DRESS; NOW TAKE IT OFF." FOR BIOSPECIALIST, PLEASE AND THANK YOU! 
> 
> ASKED BY THESTARFISHDANCER.

On a day to day basis Grant changes his mind as to what the worst part about going into the field where fifty percent of the team have failed their field exam. He usually can’t decide which is worse – Simmons who failed for her inability to lie, Fitz who can’t take an order without speaking back or Skye who always puts individuals over the mission. (He thinks, given training, Skye could have, at least, passed the field test – but she doesn’t have that training and makes simple situations far harder than they have to be.)

Today the worst part is Fitz’s inability to take an order.

He’s not even giving Fitz the order, which somehow makes it more aggravating.

They’re dressing to infiltrate a gala and each of them were given very specific dress requirements according to the persona that May and Grant created for them. So when Simmons comes into the lounge in a short dark red dress that would make Grant choke on air if he wasn’t a competent Specialist, all he can say is, “Nice dress; now take it off,” because it doesn’t fit the classy society woman profile that she’s been given.

Fitz, of course, bristles immediately. His eyes don’t move from Simmons’ legs – visible up to high on her thigh – and so not only is Grant having to deal with Fitz’s dislike of taking order but he’s also having to deal with the other male’s denied sexual desire.

(Grant keeps hoping that Skye will just jump the engineer and help him work some of this out of his system, but given how they’re dancing around each other he’s not going to hold his breath.)

And yes, fair, Grant would want her to change even if the dress did fit the profile because Simmons in a skirt that short and a dress that tight is going to take his attention away from the target but luckily for him it doesn’t fit the profile, so she has to change.

And okay, when she looks down at herself and then back at Grant with a frown etched across her face and asks, voice vulnerable, “Do I not look okay?” it definitely takes everything in him not to assure her that she looks like she walked out of his daydreams – but she still doesn’t fit the profile made for this mission and she needs to change.

As soon as possible.

Preferably before Grant has to stand up.


	70. you don't trust me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT! BIOSPEC "YOU DON'T TRUST ME?"
> 
> ASKED BY ILOSTTRACKOFTHINGS.

Jemma made a joke to Fitz less than a week ago about how nice it was to be able to catch up on her reading.

She already regrets it, as she hasn’t been given any new reading material since then. Of course, it’s nothing compared to how they probably should be interrogating her, but still she could’ve kept her mouth shut and not have to deal with rereading old journals and books.

She’s idly flipping through a collection of short stories by Charlotte Perkins Gilman when the barrier in front of her suddenly goes from opaque to transparent. She has a comment on the tip of her tongue about how subtle the books that have been given to her are not when she realizes it’s not Fitz or Coulson or May on the other side of the barrier.

She drops the book and is standing millimeters from the barrier in a flash, gaze mapping every inch of him. She hasn’t seen him since she’s been put here, and while she’s wanted to demand him presence in payment for answers he knows that won’t set the right tone for her regret and so she hasn’t. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to see him.

He’s all she wants to see.

Even Skye has been down to see her, but not Grant – never Grant.

She waits for him to speak – not impatiently because she’s sure once he’s asked his question and gotten his answer he’ll leave – but because she doesn’t know what to say. There’s a gulf between them and it’s not the sort she can cross with words or a smile or even tears – no, to make him really understand how sincere she was about him he’ll need solid proof. And she can’t provide that from in here.

“What do you know about brainwashing?” he asks, eventually.

She’s familiarized herself with him as best she can, but his jaw clenches with his words and she takes a moment to memorize how his skin turns white before flushing red when he forces his question out through gritted teeth. “Not much.” She shrugs, eyes mapping the new small scar she can see high on his cheekbone. She’s not physically strong, but she has thought of twenty different ways to kill whoever put it there before he speaks again.

“We know nothing, so share.” His voice is tight – pained – and it hurts her to know that she’s the one who put that tone there.

She softens her voice on purpose as she answers, “It’s not a fast process – there’s a machine that victims get strapped into, forced to watch videos and given various therapies to make them comply. There’s a call and response.”

He sneers and while it’s not an expression she knows from him she still memorizes it with glee. “Victims? You say that like you haven’t been a part of it.”

She frowns and meets his eyes. “I haven’t. I argued against the brainwashing program. No one operates at their best when they have no personality – individuality is the touchstone of genius. Making someone only capable of taking orders is an affront to science and a plague of vanity – it implies that the one giving the instructions is infallible. No one is infallible, Grant.”

He flinches, when she says his name, and then scoffs. “Right.”

She tilts her head and shifts her weight, aware of how thin the tank top she’s wearing is, especially in the chill of her cell, and how her stance emphasizes her physical presence. “You don’t trust me? I’ve never lied to you, Grant. As soon as someone asked if I was HYDRA it came out – I still don’t know how to lie. And I wouldn’t have lied to you, even if I could.”

His eyes soften, and she has to fight the urge to smile – and then her barrier is opaque again. But she can hear Coulson’s voice, so he must have forgotten to block the sound when he blocked visual. “Ward, you’re not supposed to be here. Come upstairs.”

She licks her lips and rocks back on her heels. Despite the lack of new reading material today has been  _very_  rewarding. It’s only a matter of time now.


	71. can we go now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK PROMPT! "CAN WE GO NOW?" FOR ANY PAIRING.
> 
> ASKED BY SHINEYMA.

Jemma was his hope.

He doesn’t mean to sound saccharine with that, he means it. He’d lost hope slowly, before she got there. Some part of him thinks the final blow was when he killed Taylor, but that’s too easy a moment to pinpoint. Even after he was alone, even after he’d murdered a man – it doesn’t matter that it was self-defense it still feels like murder to him – he still had some hope. Hope that NASA would come for him, that he’d get out of hell.

By the time Jemma showed up he’d lost it. It had slipped through his fingers like sunlight and was gone.

She was hope – she probably is hope, wherever she is.

But now he’s without her, without hope, and without that last bullet to put himself out of his misery.

Fourteen years. He’s been on this godforsaken rock for fourteen years.

Maybe he is mad. Maybe he made up Jemma and made up losing her and –

No. There are still signs of her around the cave.

He saw the sun.

He couldn’t have seen the sun without Jemma.

It takes a month, he thinks, time is questionable and his counting is arbitrary at best, for him to start collecting supplies. Not for getting home, but a series of rocks for slitting his wrists.

He can’t use the machete.

He doesn’t deserve the machete. It would be too fast and he thinks that he might see Jemma before he dies and so he wants it to be slow.

He killed a man. He doesn’t deserve quick release.

He’s breaking the rocks into manageable pieces when there’s a rush of noise and a sparking hole appears in the air before him. He barely even has a moment to think before hands in black are grabbing him and pulling him in.  It’s a vestige of It that he’s never seen before and he’s more impressed than he is scared when he stumbles into a white room.

The sharp broken rock in his hand is, he decides suddenly, a good enough weapon and maybe he can finally take It down before he kills himself when she’s there.

It’s Jemma.

He doesn’t even care if it’s It pretending to be Jemma or not. If It’s Jemma now than It can kill him and at least he’ll see her when he goes.

The rock clatters to the floor and he steps forward into her arms.

She’s sobbing and she’s pale and her hair is longer and she feels so real in his arms.

Maybe he succeeded, he thinks, maybe he did slit his wrists and this is what’s on the other side.

He would be okay with that.

“God, I love you,” he manages, speaking for the first time since she left.

And then she’s kissing him and it’s like sunlight. She pulls back too soon, and he tries to chase her lips but when she holds him off with a single slim hand on the middle of his chest he stops and drinks in her face. “Can we go now?”

It takes a moment for him to realize she’s not talking to him, and even longer for him to force his eyes away from her and over his shoulder to where she’s looking. There’s a crowd of people there – several of them pointing guns at him and – he shifts so that he’s squarely between her and the guns.

Seeing her die – even if it’s just It pretending to be her – would kill him.


	72. twister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU SHOULD TOTALLY WRITE A FIC WHICH INVOLVES BIOSPEC PLAYING TWISTER
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

“Left hand yellow,” Fitz says, safe on the sofa with his broken foot.

Grant barely manages to move his left hand off of red and onto one of the few free yellow spaces before Coulson. He’s pretty sure the rules are that each spin is per person and not for everyone, but he’d been outvoted. And then Skye had pointed out that with so many athletic individuals they should raise the stakes, and only one limb can be on each circle.

It would’ve been easy to let Coulson get there before him, but Simmons and Skye had been making jokes about how inflexible he was before they started and – yes, okay, he’s being competitive.  

It wouldn’t be a problem except that their right feet are all already on yellow, so there aren’t enough circles. In fact, there’s only one circle and Grant has it.

But even before Coulson has left the board, Simmons’ has her hand next to his foot. Which is acceptable, according to the rules, if Coulson did come second onto the circle. (Grant is sure he did, but Fitz has a dwarf watching the action so he can be sure there’s no cheating.) May puts her hand where Grant’s foot is, and Skye puts hers where Simmons’ foot is – hoping for the best.

Fitz cackles when he tells Coulson and May and Skye to leave the board.

Skye pouts for only a moment before conspiring with Fitz, and then saying, loudly, “Since there are only two of you directions will be per-person, instead of for both of you.”

Grant knows it’s going to be bad even before he sees that Fitz isn’t following the spins but instead just picking the most awkward stretches for them to do.

How he ends up under her is a mystery, but with her shorter arms she’s pressed snugly against him and –

Winning isn’t everything, he decides as her stretch to reach makes her rub against his back and – he falls.

On purpose.

He’s been tortured by professionals less successfully than this.

He barely manages to stay for Simmons’ victory gloating before heading to his bunk.


	73. wrong with my ego?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH PLEASE TELL ME DRUNK FICS ARE STILL OPEN! BIOSPECIALIST AND JEMMA/LANCE BROTP WITH "WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY EGO?"
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

Grant stays stock-still. He’s been a bodyguard for nearly ten years, though back then he was mostly under cover backup, and the still professional look isn’t difficult for him to manage. Not even when his clients are over half an hour late.

He wishes he could be surprised about it, but most of his clientele are wealthy and he’s found that makes them pretty negligent of respect for people working for them. Even when he’s literally supposed to be willing to step between them and a bullet.

Mostly, of course, it’s people who just want the prestige of a bodyguard without any actual threat, but based off what Coulson had told him about this job he’d thought there was an actual threat.

Must not be though, not if L.H. who hired him is forty-five minutes late. The woman behind the desk – secretary or EA or whatever the current term is if he’s ever seen one – is staring at him judgingly over her computer monitor. She offered him a seat, but that’s not how this works. He knows from experience that the seats in an office like this are wildly uncomfortable anyways, and struggling to stand up from one when his client finally comes through the door is not the impression he wants to leave.

It’s a few minutes short of an hour when the elevator doors finally open again. As soon as they do he can hear an in progress argument.

“Oi! What’s wrong with my ego?” comes a rough male English accent. But the first person he sees is a slight woman in a lab coat – she stops as soon as she sees him, gives him a curious look, and then finishes her walk to the receptionist’s desk.

The blond woman stands up and they hug. “Bobbi,” says the woman in a much more smooth English accent, “I love you but you need to control your husband – he’s convinced I need a bodyguard.”

“Your brother is worried, Jem, this is the third written threat we’ve gotten this month.” The secretary slash receptionist slash EA doesn’t even spare him a glance as she waves a hand in his direction.  “Besides, your potential bodyguard is already here.”

The man from the elevator has only walked far enough into the room to see Grant, and he’s scowling. “I don’t like him.”

‘Jem’ turns around and stares at him for a moment. She’s slight with soft looking brown hair and warm eyes. Given what she’s said he’s expecting the brush off. But instead a slow blush starts to climb her cheeks and she says, absently, “Never mind. I’ve changed my mind. I definitely need a bodyguard.”

The man’s face darkens – but Grant moves quicker than he can speak, walking forward and offering his hand to the woman. “My name is Grant Ward – I have ten years of experience in personal protection and would be more than happy to take care of you.”

The secretary – who is apparently married to the boss? So maybe not secretary – snorts and moves to intercept her husband (he’s started making a high pitched noises in the back of his throat that cannot be a good sign.)

“I’m Jemma – Jemma Simmons. My brother Lance Hunter hired you, I think. Um. Hi.” She stumbles over her words and is, possibly, the most adorable woman he’s ever seen.

His smile widens and he takes the hand she offers and kisses the back of it.

Her blush darkens by several shades.


	74. missing braincells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK FIC JEMMA LANCE BROTP "ARE YOU MISSING A FEW BRAIN CELLS?" CONGRATS, BY THE WAY!
> 
> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS.

Jemma describes herself as a patient, tolerant person (every time she does Skye or Fitz are in the background shaking their head and mouthing an enthusiastic ‘no’) but there is only so much she can take.

“Are you missing a few brain cells?” she finally asks when her patience has run its course.

Hunter looks up from where he’s been poking the edge of her petri dish and watching the goo inside wobble. “No?” he hazards.

Her eyebrow rises and her hands don’t move from her hips. “Really?” she asks, lips downturned.

“Yes?” he tries instead. She seems equally unimpressed with this answer.

“Then explain to me exactly why you’ve been talking to Fitz and, honestly, everyone, about how Will, the man I’m in love with who saved me from certain death multiple times, should be left on a hell planet?”

He blinks and shifts back like he’s thinking of bolting. Old Jemma might’ve let him get away with it, but she’s fought monster plants now and won and she won’t let him run from this conversation, so she steps forward, crowding him against the bench between her and her experiment. “I’m…sorry?” he tries.

She narrows her eyes and pokes him in the chest, hard. She knows where his scars are and where he has sensitivity, and she takes advantage of that fact, but he doesn’t wince until she says, “No, you’re not.”

He looks down and tries to shift into the lab bench behind him. “I just…you and Fitz are, you know, like me and Bobbi and I –“

“Me and Fitz are not like you and Bobbi. Half the time you’re in love and half the time you’re telling others that your ex is a demon, same with her – me and Fitz almost had something but it didn’t happen and even if it did that’s not a reasonable excuse to leave a good man stuck on a planet. Get your act together, Hunter, or I’ll make sure you end up with a non deadly but extremely obnoxious incurable disease.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder before she storms away.

Once she’s left and Lance is sure no one else is around he collapses back against a stool and tries to calm his heart rate.

Who knew Simmons could be quite so terrifying?


	75. do that again, only slower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRUNK!FIC BIOSPEC PROMPT IF YOU ARE STILL TAKING THEM (AND FROM THOSE OF US DOUBLE DIPPING)... "DO THAT AGAIN, ONLY SLOWER THIS TIME."
> 
> ASKED BY THESTARFISHDANCER.

This is his favorite part. Not that any of it is bad, but when she’s sated and sweaty and having trouble moving but still needy is easily his favorite part.

“Mmm, do that again, only slower this time,” she says, arching into his touch. Her lips are plush and kiss swollen, and when she turns her head to look at him through half lidded eyes he can’t help but taking her mouth and kissing her slowly until she’s got a hand buried in his hair, holding her to him.

That’s when he pulls away, dropping a last quick kiss to her mouth and saying, “Whatever you want.”

She whines, high in her throat, and shifts restlessly against the sheet as he skims a hand down her side. She’s especially beautiful with his marks marring her pale skin.

He lets her tug his head to her breast with the hand still tangled in his hair, letting his other hand comb through the coarse hair at her cunt. He very deliberately avoids her clit as he rubs designs closer and closer to where she’s wet and warm.

Her breast is sensitive from his earlier attention and it takes barely more than a lick to have her arching into his mouth again.

“You’re so gorgeous, baby,” he says before he carefully bites a mark into the side of her breast. His fingers continue to play around her cunt without ever dipping in. She said slower and he’ll give her slower until she’s insensible with it – until she’s begging for him.

He’s left a clear set of teeth prints and is starting to suck small bruises across the top of her chest when she finally breaks, her other hand letting go of the bed spread to claw at his shoulder, “Please, Grant, please!”

He drops a kiss against her sternum and stills his hand, looking at her innocently. “Please what, Jem?”

The flush on her cheeks isn’t from embarrassment, though he knows she doesn’t like using the crude language he wants from her. He’d strung her along far enough now, getting her off with his tongue and fingers and even, once, grinding against his thigh, for her to be willing to vocalize. “Fuck me, please – I want your cock, Grant.”

He kisses her sternum again before shifting up, his fingers fucking into her fast for a moment as he shifts his weight and kisses her properly, and then he’s sliding home.

She feels like heaven around him, and it only takes a single press of his thumb against her clit before she’s shattering around him.

He’s sure she can make her come once more from his cock, though his goal is twice more. He leans in and kisses her deep, hands at her hips to tilt her up for the best angle. She’s the perfect size and it’s not hard to hold her up as he fucks into her.

She’s muttering nonsense, now – his name and chemical formulas and pleas.

He won’t say her name again until he’s coming.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my writing tumblr [here](http://capriciouswrites.tumblr.com/), where I perpetually accept prompts.


End file.
